Take These Broken Wings
by LonelyGirlWritings
Summary: Found searching for her Papa in the middle of a torrential downpour, a denizen of the shadows takes the unlikely move of taking in a small child to shelter her from the rain storm. Never been one to share his life with anyone, but himself, his journey of raising a child with unbelievable talents has given him the strength to do things he never thought he could do again. ON HOLD.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Again! **

**I had this idea at about 4:30am... I thought it would make a good phanfic. The movie Maleficent kind of inspired me, if I must be honest with you. **

**I do not own any of these characters. **

**I don't really have anything else to say. 25th anniversary based characters. Inspiration from all Phantom related items. **

**- A**

* * *

**O N E **

_Approximately two in the morning. _

The harsh rainfall was not unusual for Springtime in Paris. What was truly unusual was the fact that I had not eaten in about three days. Eating. I truly despised eating. Grabbing my cloak, I decided to go out for a walk, in the rain. I found the sound of rain peaceful. It calmed the constant race of thoughts in my mangled skull. The streets were empty, apart from the one or two drunkards I came across. They did not see me. No one does. I honestly did enjoy walking alone early in the morning. I did not have to worry about the rude congregation of French citizens staring at my mask, indefinitely. Not that I went out on a daily basis, but it was discomforting to know that when I did leave my small apartment, it was taken in vain. I have been probably walking for an hour now. What was that? Is someone screaming? Maybe it is just my demons again, scratching at the walls of my deformed mind. Blinking slowly, I continued on my walk down the avenue. Continuously, I heard the outcry of a small child. Was it my mind playing tricks on me again? It could very well be my memory replaying memories of my sick childhood, just for the simple pleasure of torturing me. Perhaps, that is why I did not sleep or eat; to torture my already broken soul. Again, the cry broke out, distracting me from my dismal thoughts. Finally, I followed the voice for moments on end. I was never one to follow much of anything. I like to keep to myself. Everyone else I know is either too arrogant or too stupid for my liking. Turning the corner on Ariel Parkway, I found the oddest sight. A small child, not older than eight, hiding under a cardboard box. Her hair was curly, matted. Her face was dirty, probably from the rain. She was much underweight for an eight year old girl. Her dress was ripped, brown and to be perfectly honest, kind of ugly. She was barefoot, shivering down to her bone. Her face pale white, like the snow I saw last winter. Shaking viciously, I leaned down to get a closer look at the poor girl. She flinched harshly once she saw that someone was in front of her. Her tiny arms covered her face, scared too look ahead. Squinting at the most peculiar girl, I coughed to break the obvious tension.

"Girl, what are you doing out here in the rain?" I spoke softly, as she crept farther and farther back into the tiny fort she built for herself. Silent, she shook her head in protest. "I said, what are you doing out here in the rain? You must be cold, girl." Skepticism spread across her face as I held out my gloved hand, hoping to get somewhere with this girl.

"Where is my Papa?" Her voice was light, angelic to my ears. Her facial expression turned grave as she clearly realized that I was neither her Papa nor did I have an answer for her. "Are you my Papa?" Shaking my head, she bit her lip as she tried so hard not to cry out for her Papa.

"Listen girl, it is very early in the morning and it is raining very hard. I have a nice cloak for you to wear. How about you come out of your box and get something warm to eat at my apartment? We can look for your... Papa... tomorrow." She shook her head, licking her very dry lips.

"I want to wait for my Papa." Closing my eyes, I got up and began to walk away, truly tired of her indecisive nature.

"Fine, girl. Wait here for your Papa. I hope you find him. Goodbye." Wrapping my cloak around myself once more, I stood up and made my way up Ariel Parkway. The rain began to soften the more I walked. I was thankful. As the rain slowed, scurried footsteps were heard behind me. With a tap on my shoulder, I turned quickly and drew my knife on the throat of the attacker behind me. "Who dares- Oh, it is you." The girl shook with undeniable fear. Dropping my knife, my hands trembled with sorrow. We stood facing each other for what seemed like hours. "I am sorry. I do not like when people sneak up on me." She smiled softly, picking up the silver weapon, handing it to me with caution. "Thank you. Have you changed your mind, then?" She nodded, looking down at the cobblestone pathway.

"I do not think my Papa is coming back, sir." Her voice was quiet, barely audible at this point. Wrapping my cloak around her, she took my hand in hers and smiled up at me with pure trust. I was taken aback by her force, but I did not say another word. "My name is Christine, by the way."

"Erik. My name is Erik."

* * *

Once she got some stew in her stomach, she was much happier. Her color returned to her face and her voice was much louder. I almost regret giving her food. Her eyes were a bright blue and her hair was a dark brown. Her lips a dark pink, something I had never seen. Most likely, because I never go outside to look at the beautiful people.

"Erik, I am finished." Taking her bowl from her, she smiled widely with a giddy twirl of her hair.

"How old are you, Christine?" I asked, washing out her bowl.

"I do not know. Papa and I were always too poor to afford birthday gifts. We never considered birthdays something to celebrate. How old are you, Erik?" Tilting her head in curiosity, I stopped in my motions and turned towards the girl.

"I am much older than you, Christine. You cannot be older than eight." I pondered for a moment, a sly smile creeping upon my face. "Christine, how old do you want to be?" Kicking her legs a few more times, she lifted her arms in excitement.

"I want to be as old as you are, Erik!" Leaving the bowl on the towel, I knelt down in front of the young girl in front of me.

"In due time Christine, you will be. For right now, you will get some sleep. I have to get some things done. I cannot have a child running around, distracting me." Patting her head, I led her to a tiny cot I made for her while she ate. "It is not much, but I hope it will do." Tears brimmed in her eyes as she set her sight on the bed before her. It was an adult sized cot with three or four blankets on top of it. Only two pillows lay in the corner as she jumped into the pile of blankets.

"It is more than I have ever had! Thank you, Erik." The small child rose to her knees and kissed my uncovered cheek softly, blushing at her sudden movement. "Papa was right, you know." She whispered, laying down in her blankets.

"What did your Papa say that was right, Christine?" Before exiting the room, her warm voice filled my ears once more, telling me that this girl was to mean so much more to me than I had originally planned.

"He told me that he would send me an Angel, an Angel of Music. I could tell, because you were humming on the way over here from Ariel Parkway. You are my Angel."

"Oh, Christine, I am no angel." I replied, hoping she did not hear me. My demons were yelling inside of my head to be let out, to be sprawled across the floor to show the young girl who I truly was under the mask.

"You saved me tonight. You are more of an Angel than you think."

* * *

The morning sun had risen and the young girl still rested in the cot. Her words rang throughout my head like an unknown proverb.

_You are more of an Angel than you think. _

If only she knew the true meaning behind the mask. Oh, I am no angel. Behind the scars and the brutal reality I call my life, I am simply a man who has done the unthinkable. Truly, gruesome things to survive. She would think less of me if she knew my past work. She would run and hide, never to return to me. I do not think I am an angel, I do not even think I am human. I am a demon. A demon with no right to be breathing. It is only by the torture of Satan that I live and breathe today.

"You _drugged_ her?!" Nadir's voice pierced the apartment's air as I raised my hands in detestation.

"Lower your voice, she is still asleep. Daroga, she needed rest." The Persian rolled his eyes, taking a seat across from me at the dining table.

"Yes, so you sing her to sleep. You do not drug her to sleep. For God's sake, she is only eight!" Shaking my head, I reached for another piece of bread. It was the only thing I could eat without taking off my mask.

"I do not sing anymore. She will awaken soon. You can examine her if you'd like. Although, I can tell you now, she will be perfectly fine." Waving off my comment, Nadir straightened his posture and scratched his nose.

"What are you going to do with her once she wakes up, Erik?" I shrugged my shoulders, tearing off another piece of bread.

"I don't know. I was going to drop her off at the orphanage down the-"

"No! You will _not _take her to the orphanage. That place is of the devil." Daroga melodramatically crossed himself, peering at the tiny girl who began to stir.

"Then I will take myself to the orphanage. It seems fit for a person such as myself." His eyes narrowed, standing up to meet the girl who awoke from her deep slumber.

"You are to take her under your wing. She can become your protege. You need something to do, anyway. Write music again, Erik."

"No, I will not-"

"NO. Now, shut up and make her some tea." Daroga brought the young girl over, sitting her down in his chair. She glanced around, her eyes still glazed over from her tiredness. "Hello, my name is Mr. Khan. What is yours?"

"C-Christine." She answered in a whisper.

"I am a friend of Erik's. Do you remember Erik?" She nodded happily as I brought over her tea.

"_Mon Ange_." Christine smiled widely, taking small sips of her tea while Daroga inspected her.

"You have a few bruises, but you should be alright. You are to stay here with Erik now. A few rules you should know about Erik, okay?" With nod, she listened intently. I decided to go into the other room, rather just lurk in the shadows. "You are to always clean up after yourself. He will be here to protect you, but you have to maintain yourself. Do not go outside without Erik or his permission. Lastly, never touch his mask. Do you understand, Christine?" She nodded with great understanding before raising her hand. "Yes, Christine?"

"Is Erik mad at me?" She frowned, placing her teacup down on the table. "He left the room when I came into it. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, he is just tired of being around me. We are like brothers. I cannot stress it enough, Christine. Do not touch his mask. He will protect you, but you have to obey him. Everything he tells you to do is for your own safety."

"Thank you, Nadia." Nadir moved to correct her, but he found it more endearing than anything. Before he left us in the apartment, he paused at the front door, turning to the small child at the table. "Christine, do you like to sing?"

"Papa played the violin every night. I still know where it is hidden. He liked the way I sang for him. He said if I wanted to, I could sing at The Opera Populaire when I was older. I do not think I am that good, though." Her words stirred something in my stomach. Her father's violin was something she held dear to her. Stepping out of the shadow's, she jumped when I appeared next to her.

"Christine, are you lying to us? Can you really sing?" She looked around, puzzled at best. Daroga smiled widely, opening the front door. With a bow, he was gone. Before he made his grand exit though, he commented on my impending doom, making Christine happier than the cot I made for her, which I did not know was possible.

"Good, because Erik is going to give you singing lessons. You will end up at The Opera Populaire, Christine. You will bring your father's name honor and you will make Erik fly once more."


	2. Chapter 2

Two

In the following weeks, the young girl became more accustomed to my way of living. We arose at six in the morning and she ate breakfast alone. Every morning, she would ask the same question.

"Why won't you eat breakfast with me, Erik?"

And every morning, I would give her the same answer.

"I do not eat breakfast."

We would continue our day with her education to come before anything else. I was no mastermind of mathematics or the sciences, but I knew enough to teach her the basics of each subject. Her foreign languages included German and Russian. She chose them on her own accord. Her schooling ended at two o'clock in the afternoon and from then on, she was free to do whatever she wanted in the vicinity of my apartment. I vanished into the depths of my dark room, Nadir Khan's voice echoing ever-so-loudly in the back of my mind.

"Teach her music! Teach her how to sing! Erik, you were once one Europe's most prestigious composers. She needs to bring honor to her father's name." Swiping at my ear, trying to get his damned voice out of my head, I groaned at my dismal past that pulled at my heels, everywhere I went. Soon, a quick knock at my door distracted me.

"Yes, Christine?" I replied, turning to open the door. Upon opening the door, the wide-eyed girl stood with a big grin and my cloak in her small hands. "Christine, what are you doing with my cloak?"

"I wish to go outside today, Erik." She brought my cloak up to my face, hopeful for my response. Kneeling down to meet her gaze, I tilting my head in curiosity.

"What is prompting your wishes, Christine?" Grabbing my heavy cloak from her, she seemed relieved to be released from its weight.

"I want to retrieve my father's violin. Mr. Khan said that I cannot go out into the city without you or your permission. I much rather go with you, though..." Stroking her cheek with the back of my hand, I smiled softly and rose to my feet.

"It is cold outside, Christine. You must stay here. Tell me where your father's violin lays. I will return as quickly as I can." Her expression turned frightened as I put on my cloak, headed for the front door.

"No! You must not go without me! It is my father's violin. I do not care if the sun is shining or there is a heavy blizzard out there! I am going with you and that is final." She crossed her arms and huffed a small pit of air, her nostrils flaring in protest. I could certainly recognize that her fiery spirit was going to be most difficult to handle as she grows older. Going into the closet nearest the door, I grabbed another cloak, one made of a much lighter material. Handing it to the pouting girl, I held out my hand in an act of reluctance.

"Well, are you coming or not? You are the guide, Christine. Take me where you must."

The carriage ride was longer than I expected, but the location was the true surprise. The young girl led me to the cemetery, holding out a rose as she strode down the endless rows of tombstones. Upon our arrival, we landed upon a rather large monument that had, "DAAE" engraved on the front of it. She paused for a moment, looking up to me for approval. Nodding, she walked towards the headstone with grace. Kneeling before the stone, she whispered a prayer in Swedish and place the one rose at the foot of the monument.

"Erik, come with me." Furthermore, she led me to a tree on a hill, just outside the cemetery. Behind the tree was a hollow log. "I hid it in here." With a bit of rummaging, she eventually took out a black leather box. "DAAE," yet again was enshrined on the box. Handing me the box, she smiled widely and began running down the hill. "Let's go Erik! I feel the rain coming down and I do not want the violin to get ruined!"

We returned home within the hour, soaked down to our toes. Our plan to avoid the rain was not successful. Placing the violin on the table, she discarded my cloak on the chair and stood in the kitchen, her clothes dripping onto the floor.

"I will draw a bath for you, Christine. Wait here and try not to drip to much on my nice floors." I disappeared into the wash closet, preparing a warm bath for the young girl. Moments later, she stood in the doorway with a grimace spread across her face. "What is wrong, Christine?"

She huffed once more, dragging her arms behind her as she approached the porcelain tub. "Oh, nothing." I nodded, not wanting to pry anymore. Standing to my feet, I began to leave the girl in peace. "Erik, wait!" Pausing in my tracks, I turned to face the girl who stood as her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink.

"Yes, Christine?" With a few more blinks, she took a deep breath and exhaled with an elongated sigh.

"Will you brush my hair out once I finish my bath? My curls are most difficult to tame all by myself. It is easier if someone else brushes them..." I nodded slowly, uneasy to respond to her question. Finally, I agreed to brushing her hair. Upon leaving the bathroom, I was met with two familiar eyes and a cup of tea.

"You found her father's violin, I see. I take that as you have begun her singing lessons?" Nadir's voice rang out through the tiny kitchen as I sat with him at the dining table.

"It means that she has a piece of her father still with her. I have neither started her vocal training, nor will I ever." With a terse reply, I lay my palm flatly on the table and shook my head.

"Erik, you and I both know that she has potential as a singer. Why are you so reluctant to delve into your musical talents once more?" My hand began to ball into a fist as my past crept behind me and seethed through the crevices of my ears and into my mind.

"I do not wish to be a musician any longer. That is part of my past. I am no longer a composer. I do not even know if she can sing, Daroga!" Throwing my hands up, Nadir began to open up the violin case. "What are you doing?"

"I am going to clean it for you. Erik, you are as stubborn as-"

"Do not say it. Do not even mention their name. Clean it, if you must. I will not play it - clean or not." My voice resonated throughout the apartment, shaking the cabinets and drawers.

"Goddamnit, Erik! She is not going to be another failed student. She has potential beyond your wildest imagination. You are just too stubborn to see it! Her voice has the ability to soar through the walls of The Opera Populaire. She has the highest likelihood of becoming a leading soprano. With your talent and wise teachings, she could be your most gifted protégé. Give me one good reason as to why she is not good enough for you?" My breathing was erratic and my head was pounding with demons. My past mistakes shot through my veins, bubbling into my soul as Nadir's voice sunk into oblivion. Shutting my eyes, I breathed deeply in haste in order try to expunge the memories I attempted so hard to repress.

"Erik...?" Christine's little voice interrupted my dastardly thoughts as my head jerked towards the girl, her hair still wet from the bath.

"Christine, you... You remember Mr. Khan?" She politely waved, sitting in between us, tapping on the table.

"Erik, can I ask you a question?" She asked, looking back and forth between Daroga and myself.

"Of course, Christine." She straightened her posture and smiled softly, moving her hair out of her face.

"Why have you not given me any singing lessons? Do you not think my singing is good?" I sighed heavily, shaking my head in reassurance.

"No, Christine. Your singing is just fine. I just do not think I am suitable teacher. If you truly would like singing lessons, I can get you lessons down at The Opera Populaire. I have a good friend that works there-"

"Christine, do you want to know a secret?" Nadir leaned in, earning a joyous grin from the tiny girl. Grabbing her hand, Nadir led the girl back to my office. Rushing to my feet, the door was slammed in my face before I could detest the motion.

| Nadir |

The small girl held onto my hand tightly as we rushed into Erik's office. I shut the door and locked it before Erik could get inside to protest my actions. Christine giggled loudly, sitting on the desk chair which was far too big for her. Rummaging through his much too cluttered desk, I finally found the one thing that would hopefully inspire Erik to reach into his musically innate soul once again.

"What is that?" She asked inquisitively, swinging her legs back and forth.

"It is a record, Christine. Would you like to hear some music?" She nodded excitedly as I set up the record in the record player. Soon, familiar operatic music permeated the room as Christine's face lit up in pure ecstasy.

"Oh, Mr. Khan! This is simply wonderful! What is it called?" Clapping happily, I knelt in front of her, listening to the music in elation.

"It is an opera called, La Mort de Tous Les Anges." Erik composed the whole opera himself. It is one of his most famous operas. It has been performed in opera houses all over Europe. In fact, my dear Christine, it even reached as far as America. He went by a different name at the time. Though, his operas were still musically advanced for their time. Do you enjoy his music- Christine, are you alright?" Tears brimmed her eyes as her hands covered her face, her shoulders rising and falling in hyperventilation. Gathering her into my arms, I rested my hand upon her head, pulling her close to my body. "Christine, what is wrong? Did the opera upset you?"

She fervently shook her head, bringing her hands back down into her lap. Looking around the room, she smiled once more.

"No, I am only upset at the title of the opera. Mr. Khan, why did he name the opera like he did?" Stiffening up my back, I began to answer before I was interrupted by the gravelly voice behind me.

"It was to be my last opera, Christine. The leading soprano was my star pupil. You see Christine, I raised the leading soprano from childhood to adulthood. We were inseparable. Upon the closing night of a different opera, we were to meet at the train station and run away together. We were engaged to be married, Christine. Unfortunately, she caught a glimpse of what laid behind my mask and ran from my disfigurement. She was repulsed by me and swore that had never met me. She rose to fame and when people would ask who was her tutor, her teacher... She claimed that she born with the talent of singing. She claimed she was a fallen angel, one of God's own. I wrote that opera soon after she moved to a different country to be wed to another man. It was my last opera. I vowed to never write another opera, to never tutor anyone else. That is why I cannot be your teacher, Christine. I cannot break the promise to myself that I made years ago. Truly, I believe that you have extraordinary talent, but I will not let myself be run through by teaching another student." I sat silently, the young girl resting on my lap. I did not know if she comprehended the story that Erik spilled out of his lips. He stood frozen in the doorway, hurt by his past. Christine stood, walking slowly towards the masked body of darkness. Without words, she enveloped him in an embrace, holding him by the cloak. His jaw trembled with emotion as he shut his eyes in an overwhelming calmness. Rising to meet him, I shut off the record player and walked towards the curly haired girl.

"Christine, it is best you leave Erik alone for a few moments. Will you show me your father's violin? I would like to clean it for you." She nodded softly, grabbing my hand. Erik escaped into his office, shutting the door behind him. Leaving us in the dining table, I sat across the table from the girl.

"Mr. Khan, what instruments does Erik play?" Opening the violin box, I examined the pristine violin, surprised at the clean condition.

"He plays the piano and the violin. His favorite instrument is the organ." Nodding along, she leaned her head against the table, glancing around the room.

"Why did that girl runaway from his face? It cannot be that bad..." Shrugging her shoulders, I began dusting the violin, ignoring her question. "I am not scared of anything, Nadia. Erik does not scare me. I like Erik. He is kind and he smells like roses. I do wish he smiled more. I also wish that he would teach me how to sing. His music is so good, Nadia! Do you think he will ever teach again? I would very much like if he taught me..." Realizing something very great, I placed the violin back in its place and leaned forward.

"Christine, listen to me very closely, my dear. Would you like to get lessons from Erik?" She nodded with eagerness, smiling widely at my epiphany.

"Oh, yes! That would mean the world to me, Mr. Khan! Erik is so talented. I would hate for all his talent to go to waste." Breathing slowly, I smiled with grace and grabbed her delicate hands. With deep hopes, i reveled in my future plans for these twos recluses.

"Christine, you must sing. Whenever you can and wherever you are, you must always sing. Once he hears your voice, he will want to tutor you! It might take awhile, but I believe that once he hears your potential, he will give in and will want to become your tutor. I know it, I know Erik better than anybody else. Sing like nobody is listening, my dear Christine. Sing like you are flying through the air and you have absolutely no intention of coming down back to earth."


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

_Some Years Later_

* * *

Upon our first years together , the small child I rescued that one rainy morning, had grown exponentially. In her academics, her wit, and beauty, Christine had shown great improvement. Though, there was one thing that rested in the back of her mind that I could never get her to release in the confidentiality of my apartment. I guess we are truly, one in the same. For weeks after the slight reveal of my more than unwelcoming past, she had pressed on about my previous title as a composer. Tenacious about pursuing music and the career of singing, I finally gave into my darkest fears. Her angelic spirit would soon be shown the actuality of my demonic upbringing, making way for the path she will soon run from, once she realizes just how scarred I truly am.

"But why will you not just _try _to teach me? You are not even trying!" She shouted from across the table, her curls bouncing up in down in objection. Her tiny body quivered with fear as she stood with her hands on her hips, her lips forming a thin line.

"I have already told you why, Christine. Never will I touch an instrument again. I will _not_ teach you. If you want to pursue music, I will get you lessons at The Opera Popu-"

"No! I want to take lessons from you and nobody else! Erik, do you not believe in me? Do you not trust me? I have done everything that Mr. Khan has told me to do. I have obeyed every word you have said. I do not go outside without you or your permission and I neither ask about your mask, nor touch it. I sit here, cooped up like a chicken in this filthy apartment alone, while you hide away in your room in the darkness! Do not I deserve your company after all these months? Do I not deserve your wisdom and talent to be shared with me, of all people? I have not harmed you in anyway, whatsoever. Have I not been truthful with you in my stay here? I roam about this apartment like a fly, never knowing when my last day is going to be. If you must know, I lied to Mr. Khan years ago. I truly do fear you. I fear that you do not love me that same way that I have learned to love you. I fear that one day I will say or do something to upset you and I will end up on the streets, just as you found me. If you just opened your heart up to the music that is _dying_ to be let out, maybe you will see just how wonderful this world really is... Maybe you will see that this world is not as bad as it was all those years ago when it so horribly betrayed you."

Her voice was hushed to a whispered, her eyes brim full of tears. Her breathing was rapid, quick in pace as she stood defeated and surrendered across from me. We stood in silence for moments passing, the sound of our breathing being the only ambiance to fill the room. Soon, her gaze pierced mine once more. With an elongated breath, she stepped forward and took my hand in hers. Her free hand, cupped my mask cheek with a warmth that I have not felt in so many years. I did not know how to react. Frozen down to my last bone, my pulsing vein, she parted her rosy lips to speak words that took all the compacted air out of my lungs with a final exhale.

_"Je crois en toi."_

_"I believe in you."_

* * *

Two Hours Later

Christine sat with her legs drawn to her chest on the small cot, her curls falling down her back in a cascade of dark and light browns. Her eyes were tired, blinking ever-so-slowly as her head turned to glance out the window towards the warm summer day. Sighing loudly, she rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes. I can only imagine what she was day dreaming of at this point. Minutes later, I approached the young girl in hesitance.

"Christine?" I spoke delicately as she rose her head to face me.

"Yes?" Sitting up, the young lady straightened her posture, only a habit Nadir could have taught her.

"Would you like to go out today? It is a beautiful day. We could walk along the Seine or have a... Oh, what is it called... Oh, yes... A picnic. We could have a picnic, if you'd like, Christine." Her eyes narrowed in skepticism, an expression she has held since she has been in my care.

"Are you being serious right now, Erik?" Rising to her feet, she stepped forward off of her cot, walking slowly towards me. "I do not like jokes, Erik..."

"That would make two of us." With a gentle smile, I moved aside to reveal a picnic basket resting on the dining table. A blanket rested on top of it, along with my record player. "The choice is up to you, Christine."

"You... You have been planning this picnic for the last two hours? Oh, Erik! I would love to go on a picnic with you! Please, please!" Smiling widely, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. Stumbling backwards due to the force of her embrace, she blushed at the sudden position we were in, against the wall.

"Erik..." She mumbled, her face dangerously close to mine.

"C-Christine." I exhaled, breathy by her sudden close proximity.

"You are stepping on my foot." Immediately pushing her much tinier body away from mine, I straightened out my coat out and moved towards the kitchen. Blinking quickly, my clouded thoughts soon left me.

"Have you made a decision, then?" She nodded, smiling dubiously at the basket in my hand.

"I would very much like to go on a picnic with you. I do not feel as though I am appropriately dressed... You are always in a suit, Erik. Do you think we can stop by a clothing shop on the way there?" Tilting her head in curiosity, she poked out her bottom lip in a pleading expression.

"There is no need, I went out while you were asleep last night and got you a few more dresses. They are in the wash closet. We shall leave within the half hour. Is that alright with you, Christine?" She nodded once more, hurrying over to the wash closet, slamming the door in excitement.

Twenty five minutes later, Christine returned to me in a new dress. She picked the blue one out of the three that I got for her. Handing her the picnic basket, I grabbed the record player as we descended to the carriage waiting for us in the front of the apartment building. Once we arrived to the picnic sight, I was happily amused to see that it was all set up for us. Everything was going according to plan. The nicest blanket I had was already laid out for us, a lantern set in the corner for when night fall hits. Plates of sandwiches and desserts were adorned on the picnic blanket, looking more showy than appetizing. Truly, Nadir outdid himself this time. I made a mental note to send him a note of thanks later. A bouquet of red roses were waiting for Christine as well as we made our way onto the blanket, situating ourselves comfortably. Her eyes were bright and her smile was wide as she glanced around, taking in her surroundings.

"Erik, this is wonderful! Did you set this up yourself?" I shook my head and immediately, she knew her good friend Mr. Khan had something to do with this lavish picnic. "Thank you for the roses. I will save one for my father. Do you mind?" Shaking my head once more, she paused for a moment, giving me a look of confusion. "If the food was here already, what is in the basket?" Smiling at her curiosity, I opened the basket.

"Records for the record player, Christine. I would not have had you carry something heavy. Please, eat the food. It is quite good. I will not eat anything, but the bread." Frowning, she nodded knowing that I never ate in front of her. Not wanting to fight, she began to eat a sandwich.

"Are we going to listen to another one of your operas? I find them quite beautiful, Erik. Well, I've only heard one that... one time..." I looked away, trying to distract myself from that question, my past beginning to creep up on me. Moments passed by where we said nothing to each other. Nothing, but the sound of her eating was heard. The soft sound of classical symphonies echoed in the background as we sat in silence. Soon, she threw the sandwich down in anger, pulling my shoulder violently, forcing me to face her. "Erik." She stated with pure detestation in her tone.

"Christine, what is wrong?" I asked, truly befuddled by her sudden movements. Her grip was tight on my shoulder, but I did not worry much. It was nothing I could not get out of, quite easily I might add.

"YOU. You are what is wrong, Erik! Why did you bring me here? You never want to go out in public, yet you have Mr. Khan _assist _you in setting up one of the most public events! I do not understand you, Erik. Why are we here, Erik? Tell me right now." I sighed heavily, defeated. I knew I could no longer keep this from her, a girl especially like Christine.

"Oh, Christine..." I breathed out at the release of her grip. "I brought you here to tell you that I cannot tutor you. That is a final statement, Christine. I cannot be your vocal teacher. It is not, because I do not love you. It is not, because I am not willing to open my heart and let the music to be freed. I trust you with my life, Christine. I just cannot teach you. I cannot bring myself to walk down that path once more. I was a normal person before the incident happened. I lived a life where I could walk down the street, hand-in-hand with the woman I loved without being shamed and shunned. I lived a life where there was color and music all around me. Nothing could separate me from the symphonies that I lusted so deeply after in my head. Day in and day out, music played constantly in my head. I _breathed_ musical notes. I ate legatos and slept andantes. It was almost too good to be true. I was betrayed, that is what you have correct. I was betrayed and tortured by this world. I do not want that for you, for us. If I teach you and something goes wrong, I do something out of anger and I... I hurt you... I would never be able to forgive myself. I cannot put you in that line of danger, Christine. Oh, Christine you must understand! Erik cannot harm you. Erik must protect _you._.. Just as he must protect _himself._.." My chest heaved, tears falling down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. I had not cried like this in years. My vision was blurred and my eyes stung as the warm summer breeze hit them. I was sure she had run away from now. I am sure she had run away from the weak man behind the mask, lurched over in his tears, attacked by his demons. Sitting up to leave the failed attempt to open my mind to my past, I looked up to find Christine still there. Her hands wrapped around me, barely able to reach around them. Her expression was unable to be read as she sat, frozen in front of me. Releasing her hands from mine, I wiped my tears from my cheeks, only for her hands to capture mine in the act.

"Erik, do you think you could ever hurt me?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

"I know I could hurt you. I have done gruesome acts of torture to myself and to others, Christine... I do not wish them upon you. I cannot risk my temperament, just for you to have singing lessons. Oh, Christine... If I ever hurt you, I would do the unthinkable." She moved her body closer to mine, her gaze still intently on mine.

"I _know_ you will not hurt me. You do not hurt, because you are angry. You hurt, because it is the only life you have known. No one has shown you love. No one has shown you mercy, redemption, or grace. You hurt and harm, because it is the only way you know how to respond to yourself and to others. Erik, you do not have to know that horrible life anymore. I am old enough to know that you are broken, that you have been torn apart and beaten. I am old enough to know that you need to be shown love and mercy... Redemption, through your music, for I am afraid that is the only way you will receive it." With an airy laugh, she lifted my chin with her soft hand. "Erik, you will not hurt me. Teach me how to sing, teach me how to be like you. I want to learn how to be accepting and to be grateful for the things I have been given. Erik, teach me how to make something out of nothing. Teach me how to love, even when the world betrays and despises you. Teach me how to never surrender, even when it seems like the easiest choice. I want to be like you, Erik. Though you have faced so many dismal trials, you persevere with a spirit I aspire to have in all aspects. You have given me a home, a life, and a reason to live. Do not take your talents and hide them from me. Hide them from the world, but do not hide them from me. You are meant to be redeemed through the talent have poured into the music around you. Erik with the talent you have been given, you have poured your heart and soul into the music around you. Erik, teach me how to take these broken wings that have been dragged around for far too long - both of ours - and learn how to fly."

* * *

**A/N: Hi guys! A few things! **

**1) Thank you so much for reading this story! It's slow to start, but I'm so glad that you are liking it! **

**2) This chapter is dedicated to the two people that reviewed this story! /ciaramaria1028 & /sargent-titan ! **

**3) I do recognize some typos in the last two typos. I am doing my best. I do not own a working laptop. I'm having to type all the chapters on my phone & then upload them on my phone through the Google Chrome app... Sometimes auto-correct slips past me and I do not see it, until the next day. I am truly sorry. When I do get to a laptop, I try to be as precious as possible. I am a stickler for punctuation and spelling! I am a Grammar Nazi. I do apologize from the bottom of my heart, though. It is a pain to have to type it all on my phone and upload from there. Nobody likes to do it, especially me. :( **

**4) If you have not already caught on, this story is based off of The Beatles' song, "Blackbird."  
I am an avid Beatles fan, by the way! I am not one of those, "fans," who knows one lyric from this song and claims that I am a Beatles fan. Okay, that's all I wanted to say.  
**

**Thank you again for reading and I hope that I will be updating soon! Read & Review please ! ****  
**

**#teamramin **

**- A **


	4. Chapter 4

**Four **

_"Erik, teach me how to take these broken wings that have been dragged around for far too long - both of our - and learn how to fly."_

* * *

We sat in silence for what seemed like forever, the sun way past set, the lantern becoming our only source of light. I had not spoken, not one word in response to her plea for help. I was unable to comprehend the words that flowed out of her lips with such desperation, so hope for my _broken wings. _The air was humid and the breeze was hot. Her eyes never left mine as she sat in front of me, patiently waiting for any form of words to come spilling out of mouth. Yet, nothing was coming to my mind. For the first time in my life, I was completely speechless. My thoughts were barren, my body was at a stand still. My heart was aching for her to speak first, for I did not know what to say. The girl sitting in front of me, bewildered me beyond belief. She was an impossible enigma. Here I was, thinking all my life, that nothing was impossible. I could not calibrate a palpable scenario in which becoming her vocal teacher had a positive outcome. I knew that my demons were pining for a kill. The screaming within the walls of my skull excruciatingly implored for Christine to become prey and I, the uncontrollable predator. Since the day she tapped on my cloak in the rain, I resisted the all-harboring darkness that consumed me, for the sake of the child. I _could not_ let my short temper be revealed to the child. I hid in my room, making certain that the scars I held and the hatred I had within me, was only revealed in the privacy of my room. She was too innocent to be exposed to the beast I truly was. Now, she wishes to see the very demons that haunt me every hour of the day? I do not understand. Why would someone as precious as Christine, want to be like me? I am only a monster who wears a mask to pretends he is normal, when in actuality, I am no more than a repulsive walking corpse.

"Erik? Erik, please say something. Erik, hello?" Christine's narrow fingers waved in front of me as her voice filled my ears once again. Returning to consciousness - if I ever left it - her amiable expression never left as she waited for a response.

"Yes, Christine?" I managed to spit out of my mouth.

"I have been calling your name for at least seven minutes. You look like you were asleep! Shall we return home?" I nodded slowly and soon enough, we were home once again. Christine ran over to her bed, falling on it with a sigh of relief. Sitting up, she looked at me with a most curious face. "Erik, may I ask you something?"

"You _did_ just ask me something." With a smirk, I walked over to her door and leaned against the door frame. "What is your question, Christine?"

"What was the girl's name? You know, the girl who you were engaged to when you were a composer? I would very much like to know her name. I want to find her a sock her in the stomach." Taken aback by her sudden interest, I looked down on the floor, my memories flooding again.

"She... Her... I... Her name was Carissa. She was a very talented woman." Christine stood up on her toes, enlightened at the new found information. Grabbing my hand, she led me to our kitchen. "What are you doing?" She pointed to the chair without words and folded her arms over her chest. "Would you like me to sit?" She nodded fervently, running over to the record player. Searching through some of the records, she finally was satisfied with one.

"Do not laugh at me, Erik. Remember Erik, I can still see the other half of your face." With a wave of her finger, she placed the unknown black record onto its player and stood in front of me. Rather, with her back to me.

"I cannot see your face." I responded, most inquisitive on our present situation.

"I know." She lifted her hands up and took a stance. "Now, remember I am still young, but I have been practicing in hopes of swaying your mind." With a cough and a flip of her hair, she began to sing, permeating the small apartment with the most angelic voice I had ever heard.

_"Qu'est-ce sont des anges, si elle n'est pas humaine?_

_Sans leurs ailes, la chair juste marcher? Ils respirent et parlent._

_Oh Ange, tu m'entends?_

_Nous sommes tous tombons haut d'en haut, sans jamais savoir qui est qui._

_Qui suis-je? Juste un autre Ange morts, à côté de vous" _

* * *

| Christine |

I had been sneaking an hour of practice of singing every night when Erik would go out on his walks. For an hour each night, Erik would go on a walk, locking me inside the apartment. Thankfully, Mr. Khan taught me long ago where Erik hid his extra key to his room. Taking his record player out of his room, I would work diligently at one of the songs from his last opera. I would never know if I was improving though, until one night where I finally hit the concluding note. It was exhilarating. I just wish that Erik was there to hear it.

Finishing the closing word of the aria I chose to sing for Erik, I turned around to find his face vacant and his body numb, frozen in its seat. Leaning forward, I waved my hand in front of his face just as before. Calling out his name a few times, I received no such luck. Trying to figure out a way to get Erik out of his trance, I smiled brightly at my new idea. Grabbing a glass from the dusty cupboard, I filled it water and made my way over to the motionless man. Taking a deep breath, I stood at an arm's length an tossed the glass of water at the man. Jumping up at the sudden coldness, he shook his head in shock.

"Christine!" He bellowed as his deep voice resonated throughout the apartment. Stepping backwards, it took all of me to not burst out into a loud laughter.

"Y-Yes!" Saluting him with a bow, he grabbed a cloth from the counter and began to wipe his face. "I am sorry, you had not spoken in about ten minutes. I thought maybe you had gone into shock. Waving my hand in front of your face simply did not work this time. I was desperate for your attention!" He smiled with a congenial glow, stepping forward. Gesturing for me to take a seat across from him at the table, I happily obliged.

"Christine... Where did you learn _that_ aria?" He discarded of his jacket, hanging it off of the back of the chair to dry.

"My father taught it to me." My terse replied earned nothing, but a few slow blinks from the man across me.

"I will sit here all night until you tell me where you really learned that aria from, Christine." Smiling widely, he leaned back in his chair. I replied with a nod, evading his eye contact.

"If you _already_ know where it is from, why are you asking me?" I shrugged my shoulders, peeling off some lint my dress. Quietly, I sighed finally looking up at the man whose gaze never broke from mine. "I just wanted to impress you, Erik. You are the most important person to me. You do not know how much you mean to me. I meant all those things I said during the picnic. Together, we can work to rebuild what was so violently taken from us. I want to help you. Erik, I will never leave your side. Teach me to sing or not, but I will not leave you. Do you remember what I said to you the first night I was here, Erik?"

"You told me that I was much more of Angel than I think." I nodded, taking his larger hands in mine. "I do not know why you say such words. I am a monster, Christine. Music brings out something in me that I cannot contain. I hide from you at night to shield you from what lays behind the mask. I am a beast. My own mother despised me, Christine. I do not wish my life to be intertwined with yours more than it already is, Christine. I do not wish for you to be exposed to my scars and my wounds, this infection." Standing to his feet, the masked man began to walk away with this head hung low, his mask glimmer in the Paris moonlight. Running after him, I dropped to my knees, my tears hot as they clouded my vision. My curls fell awry and on my forehead as I tugged on his arm, dragging him down onto the floor to meet my hyperventilated sighs.

"You do not understand, Erik! I do not see a monster when I look at you. I do not see any of the things you see in yourself when I look at you. W-Whatever your mother told you or did not tell you, you should not believe her! You should not believe her, Erik. You have someone who is sitting right in front of you who is giving their everything to make you see that you are neither a beast, nor a demon. What lays behind the mask, does not matter to me! E-Erik, please help me understand why you will not let me help you!" My voice was at a level which I did not enjoy, but I could no longer control myself. I felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience. My body was shaking with fear, my head pounding with emotions I could not even begin to comprehend. My fingertips felt numb as I held his wrist tightly, not allowing him to cower in the darkness any longer. "I-I want to be apart of your life, but I cannot accomplish such things when you runaway from me. I am sick of your evading me! I am half of your life, Erik. Am I not? Do I not matter to you? How many times must I tell you Erik..." My lips were trembling, my heart beating at an unstoppable rate. Erik turned his body, his eyes saddened by my words.

"Christine, please... Do not go through this once again... Please, I beg of you. I cannot put you in danger..." He whispered, his eye on his visible side red with sadness, anger and defeat.

"You have never put me in danger. You are putting me in more danger by avoiding me, escaping me-"

"HOW? How does one come to that conclusion, Christine?" He stood, tearing his wrist from my grip. His shirt had become un-tucked from his slacks.

"I do not know!" I shouted back, arising to meet his fierce gaze. "All I know Erik, is that you have an undeniable talent. You have made something out of complete, shit-dirt nothing. Your mind is so beautiful, if you only saw it as I do. I wish I had your perseverance, your ability to pick up the shattered pieces of something so broken and create a symphony out of them. We come from damaged and severed backgrounds, you and me. Yet, somehow you have managed to never surrender, though everything and everyone around you has told you to end your so-called worthless life, now." He stood with his back towards me, his shoulders rising and falling evenly. "Erik, turn around." Slowly, his discouraged eyes met mine, his posture defeated. Closing the distance between us, I caressed his un-masked cheek with the back of my hand, exhaling softly.

"What is it, Christine?" He breathed, exhaling at the touch of my hand. Running my thumb across the cheek of his porcelain mask, I rested my hand upon it, preparing myself for the question I've had on my mind for years on end.

"Will you take off the mask?"

* * *

| Erik |

_"Will you take off the mask?" _

I was unsure of her words as they percolated in the air between us for many passing moments. Her hand rested on my mask, motionless. Her eyes not leaving mine, in an intense scrutiny. I took a step backwards, shaking my head. The demons in my head were screaming louder than ever. I could no longer hear anything Christine was saying. Her mouth was moving in shapes I could not comprehend, without the sound of her sweet voice. My ears felt as though they were filled with water, the apartment slowly filling with water to the brim, drowning me in my worst nightmare. Suddenly, Christine's figure was fading away from me as she seemed to get farther and farther from me. Her arms were waving up in the air, signaling some sort of warning, yet I could not hear her signs of protest. My eyelids felt weighted as they began to close, darkness falling in around me. My demons truly taking hold of me. I always knew they would win.

* * *

_'Erik, I do wish you got away from your piano every once and awhile. The bed is quite cold without you.' Carissa's body soon was beside me as I furiously took down the notes of a symphony I heard playing in my head on our morning walk. _

_'I cannot go to bed yet, my dear. I must get this finished. I am sorry, my Carissa.' Her fingers twirled the small hairs at the nape of my neck, teasing me beyond temptation. Ignoring the sensations being shot through my veins, I continued to mark down notes on the yellowed sheet music in front of me. 'I need more sheet music...' I muttered underneath my breath. _

_'What was that?' She purred, her plump lips nipping at my ear lobe. Truly, I could not sit still for any longer if she kept enticing me, so! _

_'Oh, I was just making a mental note to myself. You should go get some sleep, my Carissa. I will be in bed as soon as I can.' Turning to place a kiss on her cheek, I was met with an angered girl. Her arms folded over her chest, her blonde locks fell lazily over her left shoulder. _

_'You always say that, Erik! You never actually come to bed as soon as you can. I always go to sleep in an empty bed and I always awake to an empty bed. I am not even sure you love me anymore!' She threw her arms up in a surrender, pacing in quick steps around the carpeted room. _

_'Oh, Carissa, I do love you. I love you more than I have loved anything else. It is imperative that I finish this piece before the new week, my love. I promise I will come to bed when I can.' She rolled her eyes, huffing a small puff of air. Pausing, she turned around to face me. Closing the distance between us, she smiled sweetly and caressed my uncovered cheek with the back of her hand. 'Carissa...' I breathed out, unable to form any other words. _

_'Prove to me that you love me, Erik. You have been evasive... I do not feel as though you truly love me.' Her words pierced my gut, unknowingly to the girl whose lips from which they fell. 'Erik... Tell me you love me...' _

_'You know I do, Carissa. I love you.' I simply stated, smiling with ease. Her thumb stroked the porcelain of my mask, her other hand reaching around my neck. _

_'Show me you love me then, Erik...' Her pupils dilated, darkened with lust. _

_'I am marrying you, is that enough, my Carissa?' She shook her head, poking out her bottom lip. 'What more do you want, Carissa? I shall give you the moon, the stars, and everything in between them...' Her eyes moved towards the moon, slowly making their way back to mine. She shrugged, finally parting her sweet lips. _

_'I want you to take off your mask. We have been together for over two years now, Erik. I wish to see what you are hiding under your mask.' Tilting her head, she stumbled forward as I jerked away from her grasp. We stood, arm's length apart in the middle of the music room of our château. Her eyes widened at my sudden movements as I became defensive. _

_'No, Carissa. I cannot grant you that wish. Beneath this mask is something you shall never see. It is for your own benefit, I promise you. Do not ask again. Do you understand me?' She nodded haltingly, walking away from me in fright, I imagined. Preparing to play my violin, I attempted to calm my nerves. _

_Bach's Air on G String.  
_

_'That is beautiful, E-Erik..." Her tone was nervous as she sat on the divan, listening intently. _

_Humming along, I began to close my eyes and imagine my palace. Sand beneath my feet, an ocean ahead of me with blue waters that shine, and a salty breeze to take me away from the demons that haunt me day by day and night by night. Someone stands beside me, yet I do not see their face. Shorter than I, I imagine that we are married. She holds my hand with elegance, sending shivers down my spine. With her, there is no need to bear a mask. No false identity which I have had to dawn for all my life. She glances up at me, her smile more radiant than the setting sun, just before us on the horizon. In my heart, I know that is where I truly belong. That is truly my home. With that woman and just me, Erik. No false friends, no fallen angels. Just her and Erik, bracing the world together, as it was meant to be braced. _

_'Erik?' Carissa's soft voice lulls me out of my dream, but before I could make any sense of anything, her hands tore my mask off, her eyes horrified. She stumbled backwards onto the divan, my mask in her hand. Her hand was quivering, shaking uncontrollably. She was sure to go into hyperventilation. Tears fell from her eyes as she dropped the porcelain mask on the ground, shattering it on the marble floor. Her eyes shut, knowing that she sealed her fate. 'I-I'm sorry... I did n-not know it w-would... Your... I did not...'_

_'WELL, COME OUT WITH IT!' Raising my voice, her body jumped in a startled manner, moving farther back into the divan. 'Do you think I am ugly, Carissa? Do you wish you never took off the mask? Am I a monster? A demon? What do you think of your Erik now? You must think he is a abhorrent! Ha, you are scared of Erik? Erik will not hurt you... No...' Making gradual steps closer to the girl whose breathing was quite erratic at this point, she flinched into the couch, holding onto the sofa for protection. 'No... Erik will not hurt you... Feel it, Carissa... Touch it, Carissa. It will not harm you, no!' Grabbing her tiny wrist, I forced her body forward, slapping her hand upon my cursed cheek. 'You made love to this face, you kissed this face, oh Carissa... You professed your undying love to this face.' The young girl tried to escape as I picked up part of my mask, but I caught her by the ankle. Her face was red with tears, her body tremulous. _

_'No, please d-do not h-hurt me! I am sorry! J-Just do not hurt me...' Her sobs were anything, but coherent. _

_'Oh, Carissa, you cower in shame and fear. Are you ashamed of me? You wear my ring! You wear the ring of a monster, a beast, a demon.' She took the ring off her finger immediately, throwing it at me. 'Carissa darling, You should have not done that. Now, you cannot ever be free.' _

* * *

"Erik! Shh, I am here. Lay back down, I am here. It is just a nightmare, I am here..." Christine's soothing voice entered my mind as I sat up in a sweat, breathing heavily. The wind of my sudden motion hit my exposed face and soon, I covered my face with my arms. "I have already seen it, Erik. I do not fear your face. You are not a monster. I find it fascinatingly beautiful." Astounded by her words, Christine brought a cold cloth to my forehead. Sitting beside me, a small smile spread across her face as the light of the lantern illuminated my bedroom. "You barely use this room, I can tell. Do you not sleep well?"

"When I sleep, I have nightmares." She nodded in understanding, sitting back in her chair. "What happened, Christine? Did I hurt you?" She shook her head as I sighed with relief.

"I took off your mask and you freaked out, but you did not say anything. It was when I began touching your lacerations when you... had your outburst. Do not worry, you did not hurt me. You passed out shortly after, Erik. You are heavy man to carry, I must say." Laughing slightly, I closed my eyes as I tried to remember what happened between us.

"Will you tell me what-"

"No, I will not tell you. It is not worth dwelling on, Erik. I am not hurt and neither are you. Tell me, what were you dreaming about?" She tilted her head in curiosity, folding her arms casually over her chest.

"I was dreaming about Carissa and the night she broke my mask." Christine gasped, horrified at the other woman's actions. Leaning forward, Christine squeezed my hand tightly. "Will you at least tell me a little bit of what happened? I do not wish to be completely out of the loop. It is unnerving not knowing if I actually hurt you or not." Christine moved the cloth off of my forehead into the bedside table bowl of water, scooting her chair closer to the bed. Taking a preparatory breath, she smiled with affection and handed me my mask and wig.

"Erik, you kissed me."

* * *

**A/N: HELLO! **

**Just a quick note, I used multiple translators on the Internet... I don't speak French... I am sorry if it is wrong or off in anyway. Haha, anyway... Here is what is supposed to say in English: **

_**"What are angels, if it is not human?**_

_**Without their wings, the flesh just walk? They breathe and speak.**_

_**Oh Angel, you hear me?**_

_**We all fall high above, never knowing who is who.**_

_**Who I am? Just another dead angel beside you" **_

**Read & Review ! Thank you again ! **

**- A **


	5. Chapter 5

**Five **

_"Erik, you kissed me." _

* * *

"Christine, what did you say?" My voice suddenly turned dry as the young girl blushed beside me.

"I said you kissed me. Do you have feelings for me, Erik?" Her voice filled the room as my eyes widened at her bold questioning. "Is that why you refuse to give me lessons? Are you afraid that giving me lessons will interfere with your feelings for me?" I fervently shook my head, trying so hard to drown out my demons that screeched so loudly in my malformed skull.

"I do not! I could not possibly have feelings for you, Christine! I practically raised you into your womanhood. I cannot have feelings for you. Th-That would be wrong. It is not a palpable possibility, between you and myself." My voice resonated through the bedroom as her laughter filled it, shortly thereafter. "What is so funny, Christine?"

"You say it would be wrong for you to have feelings for me, yes?" I nodded slowly in agreement, narrowing my eyes in confusion. "Yet, you jumped so quickly in denial. If it were up to me, I would decipher your defensive shouts as defensive shouts for your hidden feelings for me. It is alright, Erik. If you do have feelings for me, I do not care. I will accept them. If they are the reason why you are not keen on giving me singing lessons, then I should be compliant to be understanding-"

"No, Christine! You are putting false words into my mouth. I do not have feelings for you! I do not have feelings for anybody. I denied it s quickly, because it was a preposterous accusation. I refuse to give you lessons, because of my past. I thought I made that clear to you." My voice was coarse, strict as she flinched in fear.

"Oh, we are going in circles Erik! If you do not have feelings for me, explain to me why you kissed me! You are not a savage man. You have good manners and truly, you are quite the gentleman. Erik, you are not one to kiss a woman without a purpose or a reason behind it. Tell me why you kissed me!" Her tone was demanding as she rose to her feet. She stomped her foot on the ground, like a child. Folding her arms over her chest, I placed my mask over my face and I rose to my feet to meet her fiery gaze.

"I do not know why I kissed you, Christine. I cannot remember what happened. It is all a blur. The last thing I can recall is you asking me to remove my mask. After that, it turns into darkness. It reminded me of Carissa. Whenever I picture her in my mind, something evil within me stirs. You must be reminded though, I am not alone in this situation. You too, are not the only person who is not telling the full story, Christine."

"How do you mean?" As we walked out into the kitchen, I saw the record player resting on the dinner table.

"I mean, you still have not told me if I harmed you in any way. I demand to know the truth." Christine became silent, her back turned to me as she reached for a glass in the cabinet. "Christine, would you care to answer me?" Filling the glass with water, she took her seat across from me.

"Fine, but you mustn't get mad at me." Nodding in agreement, she continued. "After you allowed me to take off your mask, I began to run my fingers over your lacerated face. You were calm, still. It wasn't until I asked about your mother that you went into a fit of rage. You tore my hand from your face." Christine began to peel her jacket away. Up and down her arm were bruises, blue and purple fragments of a hand print. "Your hand was wrapped around my arm so tightly that you left a marking. It's sore, but it doesn't hurt that badly, Erik. After you had seen what you had done, you cowered in the corner like a child. I approached you ever-so-timidly, Erik. Your knees were you drawn to your chest and you kept repeating, 'Erik is so sorry, Erik hurt his Christine.' You sounded so scared. I finally managed to get you to stop repeating those words and you looked up at me with such pain, Erik. It was as if I could see your whole life in those eyes. Every sadness that this world has, I could see in your eyes..." Her small hands grabbed onto mine as tears gathered in her peripherals.

"My heart ached when I saw you cowered in the corner like a child... Rocking back and forth, frightened of the light..."

"Enough." I breathed out, my hands trembling with the exact fear she had been describing. With a deep inhalation, she wet her lips as hot pearls descended down her pale cheeks, splattering on the wooden table.

"I kissed you. It was _me_, who kissed _you_." Shutting her eyes tightly, droplets of water gathered on the tips of her thick eyelashes. "I didn't know what else to do, Erik. I couldn't allow for the darkness to consume you any longer. I see the scars on your back, on your face... across your heart... It's devastating to have the knowledge of your past always on your shoulders. Yet, you walk around every day without letting it eat you alive-"

"Oh, Christine... But it does." I interrupted her, raising my head to meet her watery eyes.

"It may haunt you in the depths of your mind, but you have never let it harm me. That alone is an amazing feat, Erik. I have lived here almost ten years and still, I have been unharmed. With every burden you carry, with every hopeless situation you have faced, you still have managed to give me something I can never repay to you." Her broken voice tore through my scarred body as she knelt in front of me, her supplicating eyes glanced up at me, her eyelashes dampened with past tears.

"I cannot give you anything, when I have nothing to offer to you." Her hands cupped my cheeks as she brought my face forward, only inches from hers. The pinkness of her lips quivered, centimeters from my misshapen lips as her forehead rested atop mine. "C-Christine, what are you doing?" I breathed out, her name stumbling from my tongue.

"Taking your broken wings and teaching you how to fly."

Her salty lips met mine as much as my mask allowed them to, in a tender brush of hazy emotion. Soon, her hands gently removed my mask. Placing it on the table, her body maneuvered between my legs as she deepened the kiss. The sensation, the rush through my veins was foreign as her arms snaked around my neck, my arms glued to my sides. Finally, she pulled away, her eyes clouded with an unreadable expression. Her chest was heavy with breath as she caressed my butchered cheek with the pads of her fingertips.

"I do not understand why you kissed me, Christine... No one has ever shown affection to Erik..." I murmured. Christine smiled, her cheeks rosy with passion.

"It's time that changes, then. When you spoke about your mother, I wanted nothing more than to hold you. You have faced so many trials, so many hardships. I aspire to be just like you, Erik. Why can't you understand that?" Pulling up a chair, she nestled her hands in mine. "If you could just... Open up your mind to the talent that you posses, I could show you that the _real _Erik, is still in you. The Erik that loves and perseveres, lays somewhere in your heart. You are kind, you are gentle. You saved me, don't you forget it. Why are you so wary to let the music consume you, once more? What is hindering you to untangle the symphonies that are burning in the back of your mind, just longing to be let out of that cavern of darkness you claim is yourself? Is it your past? Are you afraid you will hurt me, as you did Carissa? Whatever happened between you and her, it is in the past! It is worth forgetting. I am a new person, Erik! Let's start a new adventure, Erik. You are meant to be my teacher, my voice teacher. With your talent, you could make my voice take flight into a realm, I can't even bear to think of, it's too amazing. Erik, you are my Angel of Music - _Mon Ange. _I can't imagine my life without you and you can't imagine a life without music. Am I correct?" I nodded slowly as she lifted my face with her tender grip. "Teach me how to be like you, Erik. Teach me how to soar through the air by the sound of voice and the wings of my Angel, right by my side, leading the way."

I closed my eyes, taking a long drawn in breath. Her voice echoed in the very caverns of my chest and skull she spoke of, bouncing off every wall as I sat, longing to accept her offer. No, I could not accept it. There are too many risks. Glancing down at her bruised arm, I shook my head. Standing to my feet, grabbing my mask off of the table. Breathing heavily, I stepped away from the table and held out my hand, knowing that my plan would sway her opinion of me.

"Come, Christine. I have something to show you. Grab your coat and meet me in the front, Christine." Soon, we both were in the carriage on our way to The Opera Populaire. The building stood tall, just as I remembered it. Taking her hand, I guided her through The Opera House, silently glancing around the empty vicinity. "Do you know where we are, Christine?"

"We are at The Opera Populaire! Oh, Erik! My father only spoke so highly of this place, never taking me here! It is so beautiful, Erik... Isn't it closed, though? How did you get in here, if it's closed?" Making our way backstage, she scanned the rooms, peeking at every detailed hung costume. Taking in every prop and piece of scenery, she gasped in amazement.

"I own The Opera Populaire, Christine. I built it from the ground up long ago, in another life. I live here, Christine. The apartment in which you are staying, is actually just your apartment. I leave and spend most of my time here. I make sure the two imbeciles they hired for managers listen to my commands. There is one thing has changed, Christine." She turned to face me, pausing in her tracks.

"What is that?"

"I used to compose all the operas they performed here. I do not do that anymore. They hired their own composer. He is not that good and their queue hardly gets filled as it used to, but it does just fine. Here, is where I met Carissa. She was young and I became her vocal teacher. She became the leading soprano, center stage every night." Soon, we stood center stage, looking out at an empty venue. Christine's eyes widened at the sight, twirling in excitement. "Christine, I brought you here for a reason."

"Was it to tell me all of your secrets? I quite enjoy listening to them!" Her voice echoed loudly throughout the empty vicinity, her curls flying through the air as she danced across the stage.

"I did not know you knew how to dance."

"And I did not know you owned The Opera Populaire. I guess we both have our secrets, Monsieur Erik." With a giddy smile, she danced towards me with a wide smile. "Tell me, why did you bring me here?" Clearing my throat, I took her hands in mine and pressed a gentle kiss on both of them, grazing her knuckles in tenderness.

"I would like you to be center stage one day, Christine. I have heard you sing and I believe you can make it as a leading soprano." She began to reply, but raising my hand in halt, she held her tongue, antsy down to her toes. "You would have to start as a chorus girl, for no one likes someone who steals the spot light on the first day. Gradually, you would make it to a leading soprano in one to three months time. With the proper training, I believe that Christine Daaé will be center stage, the eyes of the world focused on her." Her arms came around me in a tight embrace as we stumbled backwards into the scenery that was left on stage.

"Erik, there is a problem with your plan. Though, I do wish to be a singer here..." She mumbled, her light body against mine as we stood, inches apart.

"What is it? I thought out every kink to my plan. I will send a letter to my managers of a new chorus girl that is a good friend. They will be obedient-"

"I don't want someone else to be my teacher." Smiling softly, I nodded along.

"You will not have to worry about that, Christine. I will be your teacher, I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

**Six **

| Christine |

_Three Months Later_

* * *

My world had changed exponentially in the last three months. I was a chorus girl and an understudy for the leading soprano, La Carlotta. Erik continued to give me vocal lessons, yet he was still reserved. We never spoke about our kisses that we shared. We hadn't kissed since that time in our kitchen. It was true, I felt something romantic for him, but I knew he wasn't ready to move forward like that. He needed time to wrap his mind around the fact that he had someone simply investing time into his well-being. Someone other than Nadir Khan.

Something haunted him, deep within him when he gave me lessons. As his fingers stroked the keys of the piano he moved into my apartment, something in him would stir. It was neither a darkness, nor an evil that he so vehemently spoke about. It was far more beautiful than anything I had ever seen or heard. His body moved with notes he played, the melody running through his veins, replacing the blood that once surge through them. He concentrated so hard on his teachings and every word that spilled out of him, it was wise in every aspect. He had not yet returned to composing symphonies and operas for the stage, but he had reconsidered it, for my sake. I knew that his fingertips and his heart pined to compose once more. I could feel it in the air, in the words he breathed. Erik was music, personified. Nothing could take that away from him, no matter how arduously he tried to push it away from himself.

* * *

"You are not hitting the note, Christine. I do not understand. You could hit this note yesterday. What is on your mind that is preventing yourself from hitting that note?" Erik's annoyed voice arose from the behind the piano as I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"I don't know. It's just not a good day, I guess."

"Well, make it a good day. We are not parting until you hit that note." Erik stood from the bench, walking towards me with determination. "Posture, Christine! You are not a monkey. You are a singer and singers have good posture!" His hands moved my shoulders, molding my body to create the perfect singing stance. "Now, we shall continue." Moving back to the keys, he began to play the intro of the Juliet's solo from Gounod's_, Rom__é_o et _Juliette. _Violently, he slammed onto the keys in a fit of frustration. "Christine Daaé! You are not even trying! How do you expect to make it center stage as a leading soprano, if you cannot even sing a _second_ soprano's part?" He shouted at me, frustration taking over him.

"I'm a chorus girl! I do not see La Carlotta going anywhere, anytime soon! An understudy to La Carlotta might as well be a janitor's position. I do not know why you are being so hard on me, when I do not even have a lead role!" My voice was raised, surely this was not good for my vocal chords.

"I do not understand, please help me understand. Did we not warm-up enough today? Is something bothering you, Christine?" I shook my head, twiddling my thumbs together. Slowly, he rose to his feet. His towering body stood before me as he folded his arms in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I guess I'm just tired from ballet practice today. Do you think we could have vocal lessons later at night, as opposed to right after ballet? It's exhausting and taxing on my body, Erik. Try to understand, please..." Bringing my chin up with his hand, his covered face, showed no emotion.

"Very well, Christine. We shall hold your lessons two hours after you return from ballet. That should give you enough time to get some food into your stomach and to rest. I must show you something, Christine. If you are not too tired, that is. I think it is time to show you my last secret that has to do with The Opera Populaire. Grab one of my cloaks, it will be cold where we are going." Covering the keys, Erik escaped to his room for a moment. Going to the front closet, I grab one of his many black cloaks. The smell of roses delighted me, the memory of Erik leading me to this apartment in the rain, long ago flooding my memory. "Are you ready?" Nodding, we got to our carriage and ventured to The Opera Populaire, which was closed for the night. Erik led me back stage, to the dressing rooms. "This will be your dressing room one day, Christine." There was no name on this dressing room, it was empty. Once we entered, my heart began to race.

"What are we doing in here?" I asked, my voice shaken with nervousness.

"Do you think I am going to be misbehave myself, Christine?" He made his way to the mirror that stood on the opposite wall. With some tinkering, the mirror opened to the side, revealing a stone path. The tunnel was dark, damp. Stepping into the mirror, Erik turned back and reached out his hand. "Are you going to join me or are you going to just stand there?" Hesitantly, I took a small step forward.

"Where does that path lead to, Erik?" Confusion fell over me as I stared down the cobblestone pathway.

"There are many paths beneath The Opera Populaire. You see, when I built The Opera Populaire, I laid out every finite path, every brick, every light fixture to my liking. I could not just sit around in an office, no, that is for the dull and idiotic. I needed a space to call my own. This path will lead to many more paths, but most importantly, one path leads to my home, Christine. My true home, underneath The Opera Populaire." A revelation swelled through me as I stared at the masked man in front of me. Every pathway within my mind was connecting. Those who worked in The Opera Populaire many years ago spoke of _him. _He lurked in the shadows, never revealing his identity. He called this place his theater, writing many successful operas. One day, he disappeared for no reason. Leaving no note, no letter, he left The Opera Populaire, never to return. They called it an, "Elysian Peace." One woman by the name of Madame Giry, believes that man still lurks in the shadows of The Opera Populaire. She believes that he still lives, that he never disappeared.

"The Opera Ghost..." I mumbled underneath my breath, as I placed my hand into Erik's bewildered at my epiphany. He nodded, leading me down the stone path. The path was narrow, surely only fit for one person.

"I much prefer the title of ,'Phantom of The Opera,' if you are to call me anything else, besides my name." With a grin, he continued to lead me down the narrow path, walking on the outside, keeping a strong grip on my hand. Having an arm snaked around my waist, his masked shimmered in the candlelight. "I hope you are not afraid of water." He spoke softly as we arrive to a boat, a lake! The water was murky, the frigidity seeping through my skin. Wrapping his cloak around my body, he lifted me into the boat and stood behind me. "Hold on, Christine." He began to row, the boat steady underneath the strength of his legs. The boat ride was smooth, my mind still trying to grasp the concept of _The Opera Ghost. _

We landed upon a candlelit lair. Helping me out of the boat, Erik took my cloak and threw it over the chairs that rested upon the front of his lair. Two bedrooms, a wash closet, sitting room, and a music room was all he needed. The biggest room was filled with an organ, a piano, and a violin. A small kitchen adorned the side of the lair, nothing special. Walking around, I stood with my mouth agape at his underground home. Erik brought out two cups of tea, gesturing for us to sit upon the couch. Sitting across from me, he blinked languidly, resting back in a relaxed state of mind. Truly, this is where he belonged.

"Ask me anything, Christine. Surely, you have many things on your mind." My mind couldn't comprehend what was happening, the lake, the boat! What was most mystifying was that The Opera Populaire rested on this world Erik created.

"Who else knows about your home?" Taking a sip of tea, I sighed, baffled at my surroundings.

"Only Madame Giry has been down here. Once, long ago she and I had a friendship. I have sent her letters since then, notifying her that I am still alive. She thinks I am in Italy, retired. No one else knows of the lake beneath the opera house. Like I said, Christine, the many paths that run underneath the opera house were constructed for my safety. If anyone were to find their way down here - which is highly improbable - they will most likely fall into one of my traps. I built many of them. I was an esteemed architect when I lived in Persia with Nadir. That is a story for another cup of tea though, Christine." Nodding, I placed my cup of tea on the table beside me and scratched my head.

"So... You just live down here then? By yourself? Is this where you escape to at night?" He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Doesn't it get lonely down here all by yourself?" Straightening his posture, he swallowed hard and exhaled.

"I was hoping you would bring that up, Christine. I want you to move down here, with me. There is an extra bedroom for you. It would be most gracious and truly, living under the opera house has its advantages. The commute is much shorter in time, as opposed to living in that dingy apartment. The bedroom is much nicer than the cot you have at your home, now." I pondered on the thought a bit. It seemed crazy enough to be sitting underneath the opera house as is, simply intangible as a thought. "I would not have to go back and forth for the lessons. You would come down here after your ballet practice, get some food into your stomach, have a lesson, then go to bed. The only time you would have to see me really, is when you would be having your lessons. I do not sleep or eat much, anyway. I would not be a bothersome person to live with, Christine." His tone was almost pleading, begging. Smiling widely at my bright idea, I nodded fervently at his proposal.

"Okay, I will move down here with you on one condition, Opera Ghost." With a jocular bow, his expression turned compliant as I stood to meet his eyes. Leaning forward, I smirked with a knowing raise of my eyebrow, only to earn a skeptical eye from the masked man across from me.

"What is the condition, Christine?" Smiling widely, I folded my arms and took my stance as best as I could to look like the man sitting in front of me.

"I will only move down here with you if you compose operas again." He paused, agreeing with me with short non-enunciated words mumbled under his breath.

"Fine, but I will only compose on one condition, Christine." Taken aback by his proposition, I stepped backwards, gesturing for him to continue, truly nervous for his response. Surely, we were only going in an a never ending loop!

"What is the condition, Erik?" Mimicking his tone, he moved his face inches apart from mine, his breath seething down my throat. Chills invigorated up and down my spine as he raised an eyebrow, final parting his lips to seal my fate.

"I write you as the lead." I stumbled backwards at his words, almost knocking over his vase filled with white roses. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me back to my feet before I truly fell on the table. "What is wrong, Christine? Was it something I said?"

"No, yes, no, yes! I don't know..." Running a hand through my disheveled curls, I looked up a confused Erik. Tilting his head in perplexity, I straightened out my dress. "I am not ready to be a leading soprano. You heard me today in my lesson, I am horrible! La Carlotta is far better than I am, Erik. I am simply not ready to be a leading soprano in an opera... written for me." Shaking my head, I crouched down, placing my head in my hands. Defeated, I sighed heavily.

"You were exhausted, Christine. If Antoinette- Madame Giry is anything like she was years ago, she works the ballerinas down to blood and sweat. Music clouds my judgment. It is not until later that I realize my true actions. I believe that you are ready for a lead role. I know your voice better than anybody else, Christine. If you are having me compose an opera again, it will be written for your voice and only yours. You must trust me, Christine. I know what I am doing. Do you trust me?" I shrugged my shoulders, unable to think for myself. "I will allow you to think about it. I must do somethings up in the opera house. I will be back within the hour, Christine. Stay down here, okay? There are clothes in your bedroom and when I return, I can draw you a bath if you would like. I will return, do not worry. I will always return." Erik began to walk away towards another path, disappearing into the darkness. Before his figure left me, my words escaped me before my brain could catch up to stop them.

"Erik!" He turned around, halting in his footsteps. Standing to my feet, I dusted myself off and moved my hair to my shoulder. Smiling tenderly, I ran over to him and placed a chaste kiss on his unmasked cheek, warmth spreading down to my toes and fingers.

"What is wrong, Christine?" His arms gripped my forearms, his eyes searching mine for a palpable solution for my affection. Shaking my head, I moved his hands into mine and squeezed them gently, making sure he was reassured of my emotions towards him.

"I will sing for you. I always will sing for you, _mon ange._"

And it was entirely true.

* * *

While Erik was gone, I searched around his tiny haven, trying to grasp an idea _The Opera Ghost. _My room was small, but it sufficed for my liking. The bedding was a deep purple, like royalty. The sheets, black and the softest silk. Walking down the narrow hallway, I approached a closed door. The handle was locked. I only assumed that was Erik's room. The wash closet was bigger than the one at the apartment. With a full porcelain tub and a sink, feathery towels hung on a golden rack beside the door. Never a mirror in sight, I made my way to a small sitting room. It had a divan and two chairs, velvet. The most amazing feature was the bookshelf. End to end, it was as large as the wall it clung to. A dark wood, endless amounts of books adorned it. A small fireplace was opposite the bookshelf, looking as if it was never used. Erik must keep his home pristine. In his music room, the organ rested in the middle, blank sheet music resting on the stand above it. A small piano was in the back corner, a violin in the adjacent corner. Nothing caught my attention more than a glass case in the fourth corner, farthest from the door. Approaching the case, my breath was taken from my lungs.

My father's violin. I had never realized it had ever left the apartment. Tears brimmed my eyes as I read the gold plate, resting in the corner of the glass casing.

_"In loving memory of a devoted father and caring husband._

_GUSTAVE DAAE._

_May you always be here to guard and guide us." _

My chest hurt from how hard I was breathing. Surely, I was going into hyperventilation! My vision was clouded with salty tears as I knelt in front of the violin, weeping incessantly at the memorial. My Erik, did this for me! He did this for _me._ I couldn't comprehend the overwhelming kindness that washed over me as I sat, awestruck in front of the glass-encased violin. My hands were trembling uncontrollably and my head was pounding, but I didn't care. My father's presence filled the room as the sound of the violin echoed tenderly in the back of my mind. Soon, a familiar voice entered the room, almost angelic. From the first breathed syllable, I knew immediately that it had to be one person, the one person that mattered most in this situation.

_Mon Ange._

"I put a replicated violin in the case that you had at in your apartment. I had Nadir clean your father's violin. He is more equipped to clean stringed instruments. I wanted to preserve it, for you. I wanted your father to have a memorial in the one place he dreamed his little girl would be one day." Erik's soothing voice beckoned from the door way as my body turned slowly to meet the masked man. "I hope you like it, Christine."

My body ached as I rose to my feet, trying my best to stop my whimpers. Walking most unsteadily towards Erik, my intentions were clear as my hands lifted his mask off of his face. Without a second thought or an uttered word, my lips were on his, moving in synchronization as my emotions overtook my senses. His hands met my waist, drawing me closer. His tantalizing lips were insatiable as I parted, only to muster up as much air as I could. My eyes stung as I opened them to look at the man, his eyes closed. Placing my lips on his swollen lips once again, the sensation surged through my blood as we became more familiar with each other's bodies. I didn't want to be anywhere else, but there. To be held in his arms, is what I have been always looking for... What I have been missing. I knew in that moment as his shaky hands met my face, wiping away so many tears that had fallen, that he was my Erik and I was his Christine, and nothing else mattered. His heart was mine and my heart was his, never to be parted again.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for continually reading this! I have loved every second of writing it. I am not going to lie to you, I got a bit teary eyed while writing this chapter. Maybe there will be a tad more fluff... I'm highly unpredictable. Anyway! Thank you again! Much love. **

**Read & Review. **

**#teamramin.**

** - A**


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven **

| Christine |

_Several Weeks Later_

* * *

The Opera Populaire had been in panic-mode for the last three or four weeks. A single letter, signed by the notorious Opera Ghost had been left on Messieurs Firmin & André's desk. Nothing was more terrifying to the managers in their lives, than to have a note written by a man who supposedly disappeared many years ago, specifically addressed to themselves. Whispers began to spread throughout the crew and ensemble of this said Opera Ghost. I only giggled to myself, knowing the truth behind the whispers. Left with the note, was a score of the newest opera. Knowingly, I had barely spoken to Erik in the last month or so. He had been locking himself away in the music room, producing the most angelic composition I had ever heard. Erik never joined me for a meal, yet he always escorted me in the mornings to rehearsal and was always there to retrieve me at the end of the day. Keeping his promise, we continued my vocal lessons two hours after I returned for rehearsals. It wasn't until weeks after I moved into his lair that he finished the score to his new opera. The Messieurs were in an outrage, eyeing the score, complaining about it being too impossible to put on in such a short amount of time. I had noticed that they complained a lot. I began to empathize with Erik. Soon, Meg Giry, daughter of Madame Giry, began my close friend. Erik lingered within the shafts of the house, making sure that the managers were put in their place, every second of the day. He dropped letters often, making certain that everyone knew what their specific jobs were. Everyone wondered what The Opera Ghost looked like, of course there were rumors. Terrible ones, at that. I couldn't help, but ache in my soul for Erik. He inspired me in every way.

* * *

"This is absolutely ridiculous! Have you seen the score for the blasted opera? How does The Ghost expect us to put on a show in a month?" Monsieur André yelped as he promenaded down the isles of the empty venue. Myself, Meg, and the rest of the ensemble rose to our feet as we met the two managers at center stage. "Hello, yes everybody, we have yet another note from The Opera Ghost. Oh Firmin, how are we ever going to put on this opera?" André grumbled, flipping nonchalantly through the score.

"I suspect that he gave you strict instructions." Madame Giry's calming voice rang throughout the venue as she made her way over to the two men. "May I see it?" Firmin handed her the letter, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all. "To My Loyal Managers," She began with a smile. "It is clear that you have not had a successful opera since I have left you. My sincerest apologies for my disappearance. I have come back with a score for my new Opera, _Il Muto. _My instructions shall be followed, for they hold a severe consequence, pray you deviate from them. Christine Daaé, the chorus girl, will be handed the opportunity to audition for the role of Countess, for she has been well taught. It is ideal that she will impress. La Carlotta, your first choice, shall audition as well. I will be watching auditions and the performance from my normal seat in Box Five. Do not test me." Madame Giry took a breath, glancing up at the managers who have seemingly gathered more sweat at their brows. "I Remain Your Obedient Composer, PTO."

Soon, all eyes were on me, a most uncomfortable situation. Meg's hand squeezed mine as I let out a shaky sigh.

"Auditions? That is ridiculous! La Carlotta has been our leading soprano for nineteen seasons and now he wants to hold auditions? She is, but a chorus girl! She is a ballerina. I am sorry Mademoiselle Daaé, but we do not have time to hold auditions! You are to remain in the chorus and you are to remain a ballerina."

"Monsieur-"

"Not another word, Madame Giry! It is settled." Handing the score to Monsieur Reyer, the two managers stormed off the stage in fits of rage. The stage hushed into silence as Madame Giry stepped in front of the ensemble and crew.

"It is time to get to work, then. We have an opera to put on, with only a month's time. I want all of the dancers on stage left and I want the singers on stage right. Monsieur Reyer, begin to work with the orchestra with the score The Opera Ghost has just handed you. Meg, darling, begin the stretches and wait for me here. I shall return in ten , you come with me." With an affirming nod, Madame Giry, gestured for me to follow her. Taking me backstage, she pulled me aside. She exhaled tiredly, moving a stray hair behind my ear. "Petit, do you know why I brought you back here?"

"No, Madame." I answered, shaking my head in total honesty.

"The Opera Ghost, he favors you greatly, Petit." Shrugging my shoulders, I glanced down at my ballet shoes, oh how worn they are becoming... "Christine. Listen to me!"

"I do not know how he knows of me, Madame. I have never seen him. I thought he disappeared many years ago. That is what people have been telling me, Madame. My father, he used to teach me how to sing. Though, since his passing, I have been teaching myself to carry a note." She nodded slowly, grabbing my hands in hers.

"Petit, I want you to be careful. He lurks here in the house. Although he is very understanding, he has a short temper. I have seen it, Christine. He has killed many and his past is a dismal one. I do not want you to get hurt." Pressing a kiss to my forehead, I pondered for a moment. Was she speaking of the same person as I was thinking?

"Madame, he has killed?" She gave an apologetic sigh, walking away in silence. Under her breath, she muttered one word that made me cringe in disbelief and ache in reality.

"Many."

* * *

Rehearsal had ended early today. I was hesitant to go back into the lair with Erik after my talk with Madame Giry. My mind was clouded with different thoughts. Soon, Meg's chipper voice interrupted my darkness.

"Christine! There is a very handsome patron here to meet you!" My head shot up to meet her blonde waves, her tulle skirt bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Pardon me, Meg?" Meg pulled on my arm, dragging me out of my dressing room and towards the lobby of the house.

"His name is Raoul! Raoul de Chagny! He asked to meet you. He is quite handsome!" Meg began to run through the isles, only to have me run after her only to catch up out of breath.

"What ever are you talking about, Meg?" Fixing my hair, Meg smiled widely and pointed to a tall man, blond and broad shouldered.

"That is Raoul de Chagny. He is a Vicomte! He asked to meet you and I overheard. I told him I would retrieve you for him! Now, go!" Pushing me forward, I stepped forward, tapping the young man on the shoulder. As he turned around, his hazel eyes sparkled against his pale skin. His smile was radiant, like nothing I had ever seen. Yet, my heart didn't flutter like Meg expected it to. Something didn't feel right.

"Hello, I am Raoul de Chagny. Who might you be, Mademoiselle?" His voice was smooth, silky as his name rolled off his tongue in ease. Holding out his hand, I took his in mine and shook it gently.

"I am Christine Daaé. My friend over there, Meg Giry, told me that you were asking for me? It would be most embarrassing if that weren't true." He smiled once again, shaking his head in laughter.

"No, it most certainly was true. I saw you dancing this morning on the stage. You were the most beautiful ballerina I had ever seen. I just had to meet you, Miss Daaé." Delicately, his lips brushed my knuckles, earning a tint of pink to rise to the surface of my cheeks. "May I interest you in going to supper with me?" I paused, only remembering my lessons with Erik.

"I have a lesson tonight. I can't miss it, I am sorry. Another time, maybe?" He nodded in understanding, placing his gloves back on his hands. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Vicomte." With a tiny curtsy, I smiled tenderly as he put his overcoat back on, his scarf around his neck.

"How did you know I was a Vicomte?" He asked curiously.

"Meg is not a quiet, girl. Learn that now, Monsieur." With an airy giggle, I made my way back to Meg as myself and the Vicomte parted ways. "Meg, you are a silly girl, you know that?" She raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, only to hook arms with me.

"When is the wedding, Vicomtesse?" Slapping her arm, she smiled widely and began making kissing noises.

"Hush, girl. He is a very nice man. I don't want to rush into something I'm unsure of, though. I have many more things on my mind." With a kiss on her cheek, I began to make my way back to my dressing room.

"Why are you going back to your dressing room?" She asked, confused by my actions.

"I forgot something in there. I'll walk home, don't worry. I always do. Give your mother my best!" I shouted, closing the door to my dressing room. Sighing loudly, my vision stirred as I saw a figure sitting in the chair in the corner. Moving closer, I grabbed my hairbrush and slowly crept to the corner. "Who in God's name..." The shimmering of the white mask startled me as I shrieked, dropping the hairbrush on the ground, practically jumping out of my own skin.

"Are you going to brush me to death, then?" Narrowing my eyes, I began to take the pins out of my hair, ignoring his ignorant commentary. "You are late, Christine." He stated concisely, folding his arms over his chest.

"I was with Meg." Standing to his feet, his grip tightened on my arm as he jerked my body aside. His dark eyes pierced mine. "You're... You're hurting me... Please..." With his free hand, he grabbed my chin and forced my head up, my neck straining to stare up at the man who vowed to never harm me.

"You were with The Vicomte. Only the new patron of The Opera Populaire."

"I swear, I didn't know... He a-asked to see m-me and I met with him b-briefly..." I stuttered out, my arm throbbing in pain as his grip never ceased.

"Christine, do you not understand me? Tell me you understand Erik!" His voice was desperate, ricocheting off the walls, echoing within my bones and blood. The pleading tone that he spoke with, brought tears to my eyes as his glare was unrelenting. "Tell Erik that Christine is only his... Tell Erik you belong to him." His voice was in a whisper, his hands glued to his sides. His eyes were towards the ground, his body an arm's length apart from mine as his hands shook with fear. "Erik is sorry... Erik never meant to hurt Christine..." Opening the mirror, he gestured for me to enter before him, his hands trembling with guilt and inferiority.

"Wait..." I mumbled, lifting his head to meet my watery eyes. His breathing was heavy, his mumbling inaudible. Bringing my lips to his, he pulled away, leaving me with an emptiness I haven't felt since my father had passed. Before he retreated into the daft caverns that lay behind the mirror, his voice broke into an incorrigible, heart-shattering state of being, not even the greatest of melodies could repair.

"Erik does not deserve Christine's kisses. Erik is not worthy of Christine's love. Erik is a monster, a demon. Erik is sorry... Erik is so very sorry..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

**I do not own any characters from PTO, I just like them a lot. Especially that Erik guy.**

**A/N: Tension rises in this chapter... **

* * *

Erik had not come out of his room in hours, probably four I'm guessing by now. The bruise on my arm had become lighter as I rubbed some homemade cream that Nadir dropped off for me. I had never seen him angry like that, his temper changing so quickly as it did. I wasn't frightened, no, I was taken aback. I was solely focused by the aching in my arm that Erik had caused. I guess that's where his focus was as well. Sitting across from Nadir, he glanced up from his book, recognizing that something was on my mind, my eyes fixed on Erik's closed bedroom door.

"You must give him time, dear." Nadir simply stated, his voice soothing to the ear.

"Isn't four hours enough?" I groaned, leaning back onto the couch.

"There are not enough hours in the day to give Erik, I am afraid. He injured you and he takes such acts as those very seriously. He will never forget it and he just needs times to sort his thoughts out, my dear Christine. If he becomes violent again, that is why I am here. That is why he called me here, he fears for your safety." Taking a sip of his tea, he winced at the temperature, returning his focus to his book. I sat for a moment, finally deciding that I stared at that closed door long enough.

"He didn't have dinner. I'm going to give him some food." Nadir sighed, placing his book to the side of him.

"No, you will not disturb Erik. He needs to be alone, Christine. Trust me, I have known him much longer than you have and what he needs is to be in solitude. When he is ready to face the damage he has inflicted, he will. He is not one to ignore the fact that he injured someone, especially someone as special as you. If you do not sit in that chair right now, I will be forced to bind you and Miss-"

"He was never one with the women." Erik's voice spoke out from the narrow corridor, his mask discarded somewhere. His jaw quivered as he approached the two of us. "Daroga, I will bind you to the sofa if you do not shut up and sit down." Pushing him lightly down onto the couch, Erik smiled slightly only to return to a somber expression. "May I speak to you, alone?" Taking my hand in his, he led me into the music room, closing the door behind him. "I wanted your father to be present, for my apology. Sit, Christine." Gesturing to the piano bench, he got down onto his knees in front of me and took my hands in his once more.

"Erik, get up-"

"Let me speak my peace, Christine." Closing his eyes, he exhaled with a long drawn out breath, opening his eyes slowly. His brown eyes searching mine, he parted his lips. "You were given to me as gift from God. Without you, I would not be complete. There would be no summer without you. No music to fill my mind, no symphonies to compose, no voice to be sung. Truly, _you _were the Angel given to _me. _It has been years since I have taken you in and every day, I thank God for you. I never believed in a God before I met you, Christine. It is true that I did not acquire feelings for you until recently, in fact I am still unsure of them. I am not used to being shown love, compassion, and everything you show me daily. I react in ways that not even me, _The Opera Ghost, _can control. When I saw you with The Vicomte, it tore my world apart. The world that we so happily made together, you and me. At the time of his arrival, I was not jealous of his obvious beauty and handsome demeanor... I focused on the fact that he could steal you away from me, _with _his obvious beauty and handsome demeanor. I was enraged, my anger overtook my rationality and I hurt you because of it. I am not asking for your forgiveness, but I am on my knees to apologize. I will never hurt you ever again. I am so sorry, Christine." Standing to his feet, he made his way to the glass case and placed his hand on it, with a feathery touch. "Mr. Daaé, I have failed in protecting your daughter. I hope that one day you can find the heart to forgive a monster like me."

I stood, my eyes watery from his proclamations. "Erik..." He turned to face me, his broken expression tearing my heart apart, piece by piece. "You did not mean it, I know. I forgive you and I know my father will, too. You will never lose me to The Vicomte, I assure you. He is a nice man, but I did not feel anything, like what I feel with you. I promise." With a gentle kiss to his scarred cheek, I led him out of the music room. Nadir laid asleep on the sofa, his book sprawled across his chest.

"See, one with the women." Erik strode over to the sleeping man, taking his book from him. Erik read some lines of the book, only for his eyes to widen. "This is a dirty book, Nadir!" Smacking him in the chest with his book, Nadir fell off the couch, grumbling some foreign words I did not understand.

"Huh?" Nadir scratched his head, confused by his rude awakening.

"There will be no erotic novels in my household. If you are to fall asleep, go back home. If you are to read erotic novels, go home." Nadir stood, grabbing his book from Erik with a huff. "I _love_ you, Daroga." Erik called out, earning a wave of the hand from Nadir.

"Doesn't he need the boat?" I asked, sitting down on the divan.

"No, there are many other pathways. I made one especially for Nadir, long ago." Erik sat across from me, his eyes on the large bookshelf.

"I have a question, Erik..." My heart began to beat quickly, the redness surfacing to my cheeks. It was only by Nadir's book that my mind wandered to the subject of sex. What better time to ask, then now?"

"Ask me anything, Christine." He stated, his eyes averted elsewhere.

"Do you... Have you ever... Is there... Haveyoueverhadsex?" I asked, releasing the breath I withheld, squishing the decorative throw pillow into my face in embarrassment. I could hear an entertaining chuckle from the man across from me, but soon his laughter was truncated by an awkward rummaging.

"It is okay to ask of those things, it is only natural. Are you asking me if I have had sex or if I know...how... about it?" Choking on the last part of his sentence, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I guess, both." I shrugged, my cheeks still hot from my question.

"I have read many books on the subject. My time in Persia was ill-spent, most of the time. I have had sex before, many times. It is not as fulfilling as it is pent up to be. At least, in my experience it had not been fulfilling. I hope you are waiting until marriage, though. The man who makes love to you should be worthy of it and I will be questioning him, _immensely_." His words flowed out so easily, his expression calm as he spoke about such a provocative subject. "Anything else?"

"Does it hurt, for the first time?" Looking down, I averted his eye contact.

"I have read for the woman, it does hurt for the first time. Possibly for the first times after that, but the pain it sure to subside. The man has it easy, unfortunately. It does not hurt for us." Nodding in understanding, I began to feel more confident about my questioning.

"What about foreplay?" His eyes widened as his head tilted to the side. Maybe I was a bit too confident.

"W-What about it?" He stuttered out, licking his lips, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace.

"Is it fun?"

"I assume so. I have never done it." He stated.

"What do you mean? You said you've had sex!" Perplexed, he smiled widely at my confusion.

"Just because I have had sex, does not mean I have experience foreplay. Foreplay is something that the couple chooses to do. I was not so lucky to be a participant in such things." He shrugged his shoulders, not paying much attention to the matter. The next question that surfaced to my mind was dubious, but it had gotten so far beneath my skin, that Erik began to notice my antsy movements upon the divan.

"Do you ever... Do it... To yourself? I mean... Meg and some of the other ballerinas tell me that boys sometimes mastur-"

"Christine Daaé!" His voice bellowed in the confines of the sitting room, echoing off of the walls. His hands gripped his pants, his thighs in tension. They were shaking. I couldn't help, but think of his hands on my body. There was something about this conversation that got my mind to think of the implicit between people such as the two of us. A few shared kisses, does not mean I should be having these thoughts about Erik, my teacher, my _Angel.  
_"I... I have to go. I will wake you in the morning for rehearsal. Goodnight." He nodded politely and just like that, he returned to his room. My head was reeling.

Why was I thinking of Erik in such a way? I had never really thought about him in any sort of sexual persona. He was _just_ Erik. The kisses were passionate, yes. Yet, they were tender and in adoration. I admired Erik, for so long. He was talented. My kisses were meant to show him that he was loved and that I accepted him. My kisses were in complete veneration towards my teacher, my friend, my Erik.. Still, my body was telling me something else. It ached for his touch, his lips, his hands. I wanted so badly to feel his hands on my bare waist as his lips ravaged my neck. Was there something wrong with me? Sure, he was muscular in a way. He was tall and slim, his build toned and mysterious. My body was being drawn to him, like a magnet. I wished for him to take me in a way that no one ever spoke of, except in the confines of a bedroom, between the sheets, against each other's skin... **_No_**! Stop it, Christine. He is your teacher. He is just your Erik. He is just Erik. Isn't he? Yes, I can answer for myself. That is all he is. _Just Erik_.

* * *

| Erik |

I sat at the edge of my bed, my pulse shivering from my conversation with Christine. Why was she asking such vulgar questions? It bewildered me, to no extent. I had to get out of that room. I have never thought of Christine in a sensual manner and I was not going to sit there while she talked of pleasing oneself. It was bizarre, grotesque, and frankly something I never want to happen again. She is Christine! I raised her into her womanhood. I know everything about her. Does she not remember who was there for her first blood? For her first ache in her abdomen? Actually, it was _Nadir_ who was there, because I was afraid she was dying... But nonetheless, I know that she does not enjoy pickles on her sandwiches and that she does not like turkey, but prefers chicken. Her kisses were a mistake, yes. I regret them to this day. We are simply friends and nothing more. Even so, I am her teacher. I am _only_ here to make her voice stronger and she is _only_ here to keep me sane. Yes, I am afraid I will lose her to The Vicomte, but that is no excuse for her to ask me about such provocative matters! I mean, foreplay and mast... No, I will not even think of it. It is too disgusting to think that my Christine is even ready for those things. I do not want to think about who takes her first, who touches her, who makes love to her...

Falling back onto my bed, there was a tiny knock at my door. "Yes?" I answered, quickly searching for a shirt.

"It's Christine..." Her small voice beckoned from behind the door.

"Come in, please." Failing to find a shirt, she stood blushing at the sight. "Why are you smiling? I have many scars and it is quite inappropriate for me not to be in a shirt. What do you need, Christine?" I asked, slightly annoyed.

"I wanted to apologize for my questioning. It was stupid and it got out of hand really quickly, I apologize." I nodded slightly, her small steps closing the gaps in between us. "Your body is beautiful, mon ange. The scars make it more wonderful than it would be without them."

"Christine... This is not right..." I breathed out, her eyes bright as she looked up towards me. "I am your teacher, your friend. You are Christine, my student. It is time you got to bed. I will wake you tomorrow. Get some sleep, Christine." She paused before exiting my room, turning to face me.

"Erik?" She whispered, her voice angelic.

"Yes, Christine?" She smiled softly, blushing once again, filling the pit of my stomach with something I did not recognize. Moving her hair to her shoulder, my stomachs did flips as her curls bounced up in response. She always did have beautiful hair. Parting her lips, she spoke with such elegance that I reassured me, I was definitely in some sort of trouble.

"I love you, _Mon_ _Ange_."


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

_Rehearsals _

* * *

The romantic feelings that had seem to surface after my more than awkward conversation with Erik never left me. He could sense that something was hanging over my head, maybe he knew that I began to gain feelings for him, but he never whispered a word about it. Our days continued, living underneath the opera house. He would wake me up at precisely seven in the morning, never a second later. Breakfast would already be prepared and he saw to it that while I ate, he would draw a bath for me. I questioned him about the irrigation system he made down below the opera house and he told me that he created a filter that used the lake water. A rather sizable water heater lay behind the bathroom, require coals. He did not like to use the opera house's electricity. I would bathe and at ten to eight, he would bring me up the empty dressing room. It seemed as though every day he would lead me up a different pathway. He promised it was the same one, but they all confused me that I stopped paying attention long ago. I wonder endlessly if he thinks about me at all any differently, like I have been thinking about him. I suppose he does not. He has better things to think about.

* * *

"Where is that Daaé girl?" Monsieur Firmin's voice echoed off the walls of the empty venue as he viciously pummeled his way down the isles and onto the stage. "Is she here? I do not see her!"

"Monsieur, I am right here." I smiled politely, walking center stage with Madame Giry at my side.

"Ah, yes Daaé, there you are..." Handing me a letter, he insisted that I read it aloud to the ensemble and crew.

"_Messieurs Firmin and André," _I began, clearing my throat. "_I hope you are happy with your precious ingénue. This is my letter of resignation. You will regret this and please, tell your Opera Ghost that he is no longer of my concern! Arriverderci e buona fortuna." _I could not help, but grin at Signora Piangi's rushed handwriting, as if she had a point to prove to the messieurs of this establishment.

"It is not funny, Miss Daaé! Now, we have no leading soprano and _Il Muto _opens in TWO WEEKS!" Stepping away from the clearly enraged man, I disappeared into the ensemble of ballerinas. "I suppose we are just going to have to refund a full house, André! Seeing that we have no leading soprano, this is utter ridiculousness!" Silence fell over the opera house as we all stood, awaiting the manager's decision.

"With all due respect Messieurs, you could let Christine Daaé sing it! She knows the part well and we all know that The Opera Ghost would be well pleased! She is a soprano and I believe she is ready to take center stage." Meg slapped her hand over her mouth as all eyes turned to me. Madame Giry nodded in agreement as she approached the two managers.

"I do believe she is ready, Messieurs. My daughter is right, she knows the part well and she is a fine singer. You will not have to refund the house and rehearsals can continue until the opening night." The two managers exchanged glances, finally giving into Madame Giry's offer. As they left the stage, Madame Giry took center stage and face the ensemble and crew. "You heard the managers, Miss Daaé will be taking the role of Countess. Nothing shall change besides that fact, rehearsals will continue after our one hour lunch break. You are all excused. Miss Daaé, I would like to speak to you, privately." I nodded, following after the woman who I looked up to, knowing that she knew much more then she led on to believe.

"Madame Giry, I do not think I am-"

"Petit, you are ready. Erik has been teaching you and I know he is a great tutor." With a gracious smile, she took my hands in mine and squeezed them gently.

"How did you know... About... Him?" My eyebrows furrowed, sure to think that she was oblivious to the fact that I had a tutor outside of the opera house.

"Meg has been telling me that after rehearsals, you sneak off backstage and do not return home. I figure that he has returned to his home beneath the theater. Is he well? I have not seen him since he was very young. I do miss him, I do." I blushed slightly, knowing that I share a home with the very man she speaks of at the moment.

"He is very well, healthy and back to composing. Would you like to visit him, Madame? I'm sure he misses you as well. It gets quite lonely with only the two of us-"

"Pardon?" Her eyes widened, my head shaking in realization.

"No, I meant... When we have our lessons! It is just the two of us! Madame, I assure you we do not share a bed or relations such as you are thinking of, Madame!" Her hand gripped my forearm, tightly as she leaned in closer to my body.

"Christine Daaé, do not tell me that you reside with Erik, beneath the opera house. Do you live alone with him?" I paused, thinking of the best way to break the news to her. "Answer me now, Christine."

"I do, I do live with him in his home beneath the opera house. I assure you, we have not gone to bed together or even shared a bed! We have only kissed twice, Madame!" _What are you doing, stop talking Christine!_

"You have kissed him? Christine, what are you thinking?" _That is an excellent question. _"He is a fragile man, he does not know how handle his emotions, let alone the emotions of a woman! Do you have romantic feelings for Erik?" _  
_

I thought about it for a long time, for what seemed like an eternity. Madame Giry stared at me patiently as I thought over my answer. I did not know if I felt anything romantic towards Erik. All I have ever felt towards him was adoration and in return, he protected me and loved me, but as I've grown up... It is not the love I wished it to be. Was it? My heart races when his fingertips graze my cheek, when his eyes meet mine, and when his hand meets the small of my back as he leads me down the stone path beneath the opera house. My skin rises when I hear him quietly sing the melody to his new composition in the locked music room, he never lets me in there when he is composing. Yet, I have always been fascinated by a person like him. He rescued me from the rainfall. If he had not seen me, heard my cries... Those men who killed my father, would have come back and surely killed me too. He does not know how my father died, yet he accepts that I sought him out and trusted him first. Our years together have been difficult as he learned the troubles of raising an emotionally damaged girl, emotionally damaged himself. I found the beauty in him... in my angel. I fought so hard to see beneath the mask and what I saw was absolutely ethereal. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was what I felt whenever I felt Erik's gaze on me as I sang the music that he wrote, love?

_You are more of an Angel than you think._

"Christine, are you alright?" Madame Giry's voice rang out, snapping me out of my internal questioning.

"Yes, I am sorry. I was just thinking. What did you ask me, Madame?" Her eyes were worried, but not for me, no. They were worried for Erik, she knows him better than anyone else does. She knows things that I do not.

"I asked you if you have romantic feelings towards Erik, Christine. It is imperative that I know if you do or not." Her tone was strict, her grip hard on my forearms.

"Why is it so important to you if I have feelings towards him or not? He is no longer your responsibility!" Ripping my arms from her grip, my emotions turned enraged. Who was she to tell me who to have feelings towards or not! "From what he has told me, _you _abandoned _him! _Do not tell me who to have romantic feelings for and who to not have romantic feelings for, Madame! I am a grown woman and I do not need your opinion on my love life. If I want to love Erik in a romantic way, I will. He is a grown man and he can handle my feelings towards him however he pleases. I do not need your neither your permission, nor your opinion. Good day, Madame Giry!"

* * *

_"Good day, Madame Giry!" _

Erik |

Emerging from the shadows of the backstage area where Antoinette held Christine, my chest shook as I watched Christine storm off in a fit of anger and frustration. Her curls bounced and swayed in a flurry as she was submerged into the darkness of her new dressing room as the leading soprano. Slamming the door, I knew that she longed for me to appear behind that mirror, yet I had to speak with Antoinette, my longest friend.

"She loves you, Erik." Madame Giry murmured, her eyes averted to the ground. Her head shook, her eyes closing in fear. "You cannot do this to yourself again, you cannot invest yourself in Christine any longer."

"She is not like Carissa. We have a bond, a friendship." I exhaled, moving my eyes to the older blonde woman who stood beside me.

"Yes and it shall remain at a friendship. Both of you will get hurt if you choose to romantically invest yourself with Christine. She is delicate, innocent. You are scarred and trying to rebuild your life after what Carissa put you through. I am telling you, Erik... Do not make the same mistake again. It is not worth jeopardizing your friendship with Christine. It is bad enough you two live together. You did not mention your kisses, Erik. Did you kiss her back?" I nodded, raising my hand in hesitance.

"I kissed her back the second time. She was emotional after she saw the memorial I built her for father. I thought it was appropriate to kiss her back, seeing that all she sought after was comfort. I began to feel romantic feelings for her about a week ago, but I did not ask her or act upon them. I do not think it is wise, yet something within me is telling me that Christine is different. I am willing her to give her everything, my heart... My soul... I do not know why I feel this way. I feel as though I love Christine, yet if I loved her... I would hurt her... I vowed to love no one else after Carissa. Not simply, because Carissa was my only love, but because I believed all women are evil and only after my money. Yet, Christine is different. Annie, my dear... You have known me the longest and I have trusted you with my life. Christine has given me my wings back that Carissa so violently clipped off... Christine has taught me how to fly again, through the music that I write. She is my constant angel. I have watched her grow into a beautiful young woman and it is agonizing knowing that she has not yet found her wings. I wish to give her the same blessing she has given me, Annie... I wish to give her the wings she once had when her father was alive. I want to be the Angel she thinks I am, but I cannot do it in the way she wishes me to... I will hurt her if I get near her and if I hurt Christine, I would never forgive myself. It is best if I just let her be and I just be her teacher. It shall remain that way, Annie. She is too fragile... She deserves someone better. She deserves someone like _The Vicomte de Chagny_."

"Erik, no-"

* * *

Christine sat silently watching the embers pop and spark out of the fire, her eyes glossy as she blankly stared into the flames that consumed the fireplace. Carrying a tray of food to her, I placed it on the table beside her. Waving my hand in front of her, she soon came out of her trance and looked up at me with an unreadable expression.

"You did not eat dinner, Christine." She shrugged her shoulders, moving her eyes back to the fire. "You must eat. I do not want you to be sick." She shook her head, completely ignoring the fact that I was not giving her the option. "Christine, eat now or I will throw you in that lake." Holding up her arms, she lazily offered herself up to be thrown into the lake. "Goddamnit, Christine! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Pushing her arms down, she did not seem to flinch at my forceful act.

"Thank you for dinner." Grabbing the tray of food, she pushed past my body and moved towards her room without uttering another word. Angered by her attitude, I followed her into the hallway. Knocking her tray of food onto the floor, I grasped her wrists with one hand, truly surprised that I could fit both of her wrists in one hand. With my free hand, I forced her chin up, her gaze still averted from my unmasked face.

"Oh, so no you are not going to look at me! Fantastic, Christine... You are unbelievable! I get you your one wish to come true, leading soprano, and this is how you repay me? The silent treatment, oh Christine, I hardly think that is fair!" Her eyes glared up at me as she squirmed underneath me grip. "Tell me why you are so silent and I will let you go, Christine!" Her nostrils flared, her chest heaving in resentment for something I cannot put a name on particularly. "Huffing and puffing about will not get you anywhere with me, Christine." I pulled tighter on her wrists, her tiny body beginning to float off the ground. "TELL ME NOW!"

"YOU WILL NOT LOVE ME. YOU ARE A COWARD. YOU WISH TO TEACH ME TO FLY, YET YOU WILL NOT GAIN THE COURAGE TO PUSH ME OFF THE CLIFF! THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I WILL LEARN HOW TO FLY, ERIK. YOU REFUSE TO LOVE ME, BECAUSE YOU ARE AFRAID TO HURT ME? NO, YOU REFUSE TO LOVE ME BECAUSE YOU ARE A COWARD. YOU ARE SO AFRAID TO BE LOVED, THAT YOU REFUSE TO LOVE ANYBODY ELSE. I GIVE YOU EVERYTHING. I GIVE YOU MY VOICE, MY LIPS, MY SOUL, MY HEART... WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" She was panting, her tears fleeting from the corners her eyes. Her body was tremulous as I lowered her body to the ground. Christine melted into the floor, her hands covering her face. "I have given everything to you... What more do you want from me..." She whispered, barely audible. Kneeling down, I removed her hands from her face, her cheeks red with frustration. Her eyes were puffy, swollen with a perplexing apathy. With a deep breath, she looked up at me, her lips quivering with the words she wanted to say, but I knew never would.

"Christine, I-"

"Save it, Erik. I am done with your poetic excuses, your pitiful justifications for your forceful antics. When you figure out what you want Erik, please, by all means... Let me know."

* * *

**A/N: Short chapter, I am sorry. Things are moving, though! **

**read & review please :) **

**much love **

*** A**


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten **

| Christine |

_"When you figure out what you want, Erik, please by all means... Let me know." _

* * *

I was angry, I had never been this angry at Erik before. He was a coward, he feared love. Here was a woman who was willing to accept his face, his past, his temper, yet he crouches in the corner whenever she approaches him. I understand that he has an inferiority-complex that stemmed from his childhood, his horrible childhood. I also know that his insecurity was something I needed to treat lightly, but his cowardice was something I was totally fed-up with, I had lived with it for years now. Maybe my outburst was the thing was required for him to look past his childhood, to look past Carissa's damage, and let me show him what true love was. Maybe not, he is awfully stubborn. My father always taught me to welcome people's flaws. Does Erik not see that I welcome his so-called flaws? Time and time again, I have shown him that his face show no horror to me. It is nearly impossible if he never lets me near him. Aggravated, that is what he makes me. Truly and utterly, enraged with his insecurity.

* * *

It was early in the morning, the clock showed 3:41 in the morning. I could not fall asleep. _Il Muto _was to open in four days and Erik was barely talking to me. He would give me my singing lesson, then retreat to his room. He has not eaten, he has not slept. I worry for his health. I tossed and turned, thinking about the opera, thinking about Erik. My mind was cluttered with music, with Erik. Had I been too harsh on him? There was no telling what I was towards him. He has not uttered a single word since our fight. Soon, the sound of something being dropped in the kitchen alerted me. Putting on a black silk robe that Erik gave him as a gift, I stepped outside of my room, grabbing a small knife I stole from the kitchenware. The shadow was lurching over the sink, spitting out blood. Not able to hold themselves up anymore, they fell to the ground with a great noise. The cape swished in the wind and immediately, I knew the silhouette like the back of my hand.

"Erik!" Running over to the fallen figure, he laid on the kitchen floor, pale and barely conscious. "Oh, Erik... What have you done to yourself?"

"You... Y-You are supposed to be a-asleep..." He muttered, wiping the blood off of his chin. "Leave me h-here. I will t-take care of m-myself." He attempted to stand, only bringing the chair down with him.

"You can barely stand on your own! Let me at least help you to your room." I slung Erik's arm over my shoulder, knowing that he would never put any weight on me. Walking towards his room, he groaned as he reached for the key. The key was covered in blood as he opened the door with a shaky hand. "What did you do to yourself? You are covered in blood!" Resting him on the edge of the bed, I shook my head and turned on the light. The horror was not his face, no. His white mask had been turned red, smothered in dry blood. Bleeding through his white dress shirt, he shed his heavy cape, sighing in relief. "I will get a cloth to wash your wound."

"N-No! I said I will take c-care of myself!" He shouted, wincing at the sudden movement. Grabbing his chin with my hand, I forced his eyes to mine as I furrowed my eyebrows.

"You will sit down and shut up, Erik. Do as I say or I will get Nadir. I know how you _love _him." Releasing his chin, he reached for his mask, only groaning more. "Let me, please." I lifted his blood-stained mask, his mangled face relaxing at the air hitting it. "I will wash this for you as soon as I'm done tending to you. Unbutton your shirt, Erik." He paused, his mouth forming a tight line. "That does not look like doing what I say. Take your shirt off or I will leave you here to die." Erik rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I c-cannot. It hurts too much... You m-must do it for me, Christine." I nodded, stepping closer to him. Beginning to unbutton his shirt, I glanced down at his chest. "You have seen my bare c-chest. Y-You have not seen it in battle yet." He gave out an irritated laugh as I removed his bloodied shirt. Gasping at the wound, I shook my head, placing my hands over my mouth. "There were too m-many. A noose can only do s-so much at o-one time."

"Who were they, Erik?" As I returned from the bathroom with a warm cloth and basin, I laid him down on the bed and began to clean out the wound, his flinching being of no help to me.

"Men from Persia. I do n-not know why they a-are after me. They were speaking in P-Persian. I do not s-speak that language." The wound was clean, but I feared it required stitches. "Thank you, C-Christine."

"Erik, this will need stitches. I will go out and get Nadir. Stay here and sleep, I will re-"

"No! You are _not _to go out there are this hour, especially alone!" He sat up, screaming in pain. I sighed, laying him back down against his pillows. "I d-do not want y-you getting hurt."

"I cannot stitch you up properly, Erik. Your wound will get infected if you do not get stitches." I pointed to the wound, hoping he would give in to my pleas. Probably not.

"Hand me the n-needle and t-thread. I will stitch m-myself." I grabbed his hand, making no such favor. His breathing was beginning to slow down, the blood loss getting to his head. He was in no condition to stitch himself. I sighed knowing that his blood loss was a greater problem. "It is in the bottom d-drawer of my dresser, in a t-tin box." Retrieving the box, I gathered his bloody clothing, not able to watch him stitch his wound.

"I will wash these for you tomorrow, Erik." He groaned in response, almost causing me to gag. "Excuse me, I will be back." I left to dispose of his clothes in the dirty clothes basket, hoping that by my return he would be finished. Deciding to make a cup of his favorite tea from India, I awaited the kettle, trying to waste time. Finally, the kettle whistled. Knocking on the door, his weak voice permitted my entrance. "I brought you some tea." He was propped up on his pillows, his color drained from him. He had gotten exponentially skinnier, his bones beginning to show. I could not help, but take the blame for his current condition. Handing him the cup of tea, I sat beside him on his bed.

"Thank you, Christine." He whispered, covering himself with his robe. "I hate for you to see me like this."

"What were you doing out so late, Erik?" He shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip of his tea. "I do not like being down here all alone."

"Usually, you are asleep. I always go out on a walk. The men from Persia found me this time, I suppose." My eyes wandered to his thin arms, his elbows protruding from his skin. I never realized just how skinny he was underneath his suit. "I rise before you awaken and return when you fall asleep, Christine. I am what you called me, a coward. I do not have the bravery to face you." I sighed, placing the teacup on his bedside table.

"Erik... Please, not tonight... You need to rest." My voice was quiet, tired. "You are exhausted, Erik."

"Then when, Christine? When you run off with The Vicomte de Chagny, because he has the bravery to court you in public? When you see him sitting in _my _box, because he fears no such Ghost? You have feelings for The Vicomte and I cannot blame you. I would have feelings for him if I were you, too! I am a pathetic mark of a man, Christine." Erik choked on his words. I had never heard him degrade his pride so much. He was always so forward with himself, never allowing someone like _Raoul _to win me over such as he spoke of! "Christine, I do not deserve your voice, your love, your heart... your soul..." He looked at me with such sadness, such desperation. "I have spoke to Annie, I mean Madame Giry... The choice is yours, but if you want to, you can live with her and be in courtship with The Vicomte. I see how you interact with him after rehearsals. You seem truly disappointed when you have to decline him for dinner, I know it. He can give you a life you always dreamed of, Christine." Erik took a deep breath in, his eyes shut. "He can finally give you the wings that you deserve."

* * *

_13 January _

_The night was dismal, the storms clouds marching in like a brigade to seal my fate. I remember the evening like it was just yesterday. I had been working on a small composition, though I vowed to myself I would never write again. There was a knock at my door and the sight before me surprised me to my bones. Carissa stood before me, her eyes as beautiful as the first time I saw her grace the stage. We had been apart for nearly a year now, her complexion the same, though her cheekbones more defined. Her wedding ring was elegant, a small diamond. I had not expected to see her and truly, the moment I opened the door and saw that it was Carissa, my desire to throw her off my balcony was overriding my good manners. I let her in and made her some of India's finest tea. She spoke of her husband, some patron of her new theater. I stopped listening, only nodding every few sentences. It was only when she announced that she was with child that I began to pay attention. I wondered why she graced me with such news, knowing that it would be impossible that the child was mine. Then, she broke the news that she had been trying to get pregnant for some time now. She was about five months along and once she removed her hideous fur coat, I could see it. Again, I questioned her and why she decided to bombard me with such heavenly news. At first, she seemed timid. I was quite impatient, being that it was almost midnight. Did not her husband wonder why his wife was not at home at such a late hour? She beat around the bush for another fifteen minutes until I forced it out of her. She miscarried my child after she left me. I feared that it was my demonic genes that caused such a traumatic experience to her. I apologize, only to the extent of losing the baby. Had I known she was pregnant, I would have never acted the way I did and I would have never left her side. She accepted my apology, only wishing that she had not miscarried the other two children. She wanted me to take her to a doctor the next day. I asked her, 'Why me?' Surely, she has a lady's maid or something. She began to speak of trust. I began to speak of my gruesome face and how she broke my mask, throwing my ring at my chest, while she recoiled in horror. She blames the hormones, I blamed the woman. I politely declined her offers to take her to a doctor, but I wished her well and hoped she would be on her way very soon. There she went again, being timid. I asked her what was on her mind and she insisted that it was nothing. I insisted that if that was all, she best be going. She asked if I learned to control my temper and I replied with, 'How about you break another one of my masks and we shall find out, Madame Dumont.' She laughed for some reason. I did not find it amusing. She then posed a hypothetical situation. If she had accepted my face the first time she saw it, would we still be together, married perhaps? I sat for awhile, thinking about my vision of a beach, with a wife and a child. After the incident, I knew for a fact that she was not the woman on the beach, but a marriage was something I was willing to commit to... At the time. I told her that we very well could be married, but she gave that up on her own free will. She regrets it often, seeing that her husband only drinks mass amounts of alcohol and sleeps with other women. I called her husband and coward. She did not move to disagree. Upon her departure, she raised her hand to my face, taking off my mask. In the moment, I swore to Allah if she broke that one, she would be flying over my balcony railing in a moment's notice. She smiled at me, not saying a word. I did not know why she did that, but she did. Women, sometimes. 'Your son or daughter have a wonderful father. I hope that all of your future children are just as you are, talented and wonderful. When you marry, the woman will be very blessed, Erik,' She spoke with such sadness as she exited, parting ways. _

_I had not seen her since. It has been two years. I have made my way to Paris, now. I have no children, no wife. I fear that they will not accept me as Carissa did, although she flinched in horror the first time. I fear that if I had a child, it would bear the same marking I do, the marking of the Devil. I do not wish that for a child. I do not wish for a woman to bear the burden of carrying Satan's child. Maybe I do not have to worry about that. No one woman will accept me, accept my face, accept my demons. I am afraid to love another, for if I hurt her, she may never return - just as Carissa did. I hold a temper, I hold a mind that never knows what to think in a situation that calls for quick thinking. A woman will never want a man like me. She will laugh at a man like me. Love is something reserved for beautiful people. Love is something that I cannot give. I cannot give something and expect something in return. That is selfishness. That is pity. A woman cannot love me and expect to me to love her back... How am I to love a woman, when I cannot even love myself?_

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**A/N: A little look into Erik's past and why he is so damn hard to love! Will love prevail and conquer or will it destroy and diminish? **

**Read and review ! Thank you ! **

**- A**


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven **

_The Journal _

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The opening night of night _Il Muto _was approaching, only two days more. I could not focus during rehearsals, knowing that Erik was injured, fifty feet below the very stage I paraded on in a ridiculous costume for eight straight hours during the day. I knew in the back of my mind that my instructions to stay in bed were not going to be obeyed, I knew that he was going to try to get up and compose. It was inevitable that he would _have_ to arise from his bed to retrieve me from my dressing room, but I only wished that was going to be the only time he arose. My wishes barely came true these days. I would tend to his wounds before I left to rehearsals, cleaning out the vile smelling pus, making sure he did not gain an infection. I offered many times to have a doctor be sent for him, but he feared that a doctor would expose his lair. I tried my best not to gag at the smell of his wound. Erik taught me how to clean around his stitches, being careful not to take out the threading. I am sure he would tear them out by walking around the lair at such a weak physical state. Our relationship has grown since he has been injured, being that he is _forced_ to talk to me. I requested that he does not speak of The Vicomte de Chagny anymore. I do not know what I feel for The Vicomte, it is not love. It is an overgrown affection, but not love. I know who I love, but the one whom I love, is as stubborn as I am. I just pray that one day he realizes that he _can _love.

* * *

As I rested on the divan in the sitting room reading a book from Erik's plethora collection of novels, I reveled on the early days I spent with Erik. He was so unsure of how to shelter a child. He barely knew how to tuck me into my bed. One night, I asked him for warm milk before bed and he stared at me through his mask for five straight minutes before telling me that warm milk was for goats, thus proceeding to explain to me that I was not a goat, and I was in fact a girl. His touch was sensitive, feathery as he attempted to explain that goats had hooves and girls had fingers. I argued that boys had bigger hands than girls that could very much be like hooves. He raised his palm against mine, his hand size colossal in comparison to mine. It was the first time I saw him smile. It was barely a smile the way side of his mouth curved upwards, his eyes blinking slowly, but it was the first time I knew that there was no ice in his veins, but a warm beating heart, only a true mark of an Angel.

"Erik, if you are trying to sneak past me, wear your cape is not the way to do that." Placing the book beside me, I followed the caped man to the table and chairs. He turned around, clutching his wound. "Where do you think you are going?"

"I am going out, Christine. We are out of bread and cheese. You need to eat." I shook my head, pulling out the chair beneath him. Guiding him to the seat, I revealed a basket full of two loaves of bread and a block of fresh Brie. "Where did you get that, Christine? Have you been going to the market without me? It is unsafe for a girl-"

"Calm your tongue before you get a heart attack, Erik. Madam Giry brought it to me after rehearsal. She wishes you well, by the way. Are you hungry? I could make you some tea, if you would like." Erik nodded as I proceeded to fill the kettle with water, placing it over the stove.

"What have you been doing during my rest? Practicing your arpeggios and diaphragm exercise, I hope." He smiled knowingly as I began slicing the loaf of bread.

"No, I have been reading a book in the sitting room... Reminiscing, if you will." I shrugged my shoulders, handing him a piece of bread.

"About what, if I may be so bold?" He nodded in thanks, removing his cape, and rolling up his pajama sleeves.

"The night I asked for warm milk and you told me warm milk was for goats. I thought you were going to take me to the stables and tell me to sleep with the goats. You surprised me, Erik." He could not help, but let out a laugh as he bit down on his bread, spreading some cheese on the left over pieces. "You were very kind to me... I do not think I will ever be able to repay you." Erik put the piece of bread down, grabbing the kettle of tea from my hands and setting it down on the table.

"Christine, you will never have to repay me. You have given me the greatest payment of all." I tilted my head to the side, pouring the tea into the two porcelain cups.

"What is that, Erik?" He smiled politely, pulling the steaming cup of tea to his swollen lips. Before taking his first sip, his eyes brightened with an honesty I have not ever seen, a happiness I have never witness.

"You have given me life."

* * *

_The Next Day _

"Erik, I have to go to rehearsal now. Would you be a dear and eat some bread for me this morning? I know you have this vendetta against food, but it will truly make this recovery process faster if you continually eat and rest." I spoke loudly, gathering my things as I prepared to go up to rehearsal. It was the day before opening night and I knew that the stage was going to be in complete chaos. I wanted to get out early to grab a bite to eat with Meg. With no such luck of a response from Erik, I figured that he was just resting. Tying my hair in a braid, I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders, knowing that it got cold in the catacombs. Approaching Erik's door, I knocked lightly, trying not to disturb him. "Erik, I will be back during the lunch break to clean out your wound. Have a good morning and do not move around too much. Okay?" No response, total silence. "Erik?" Jiggling the door handle, I found that it was unlocked, a rarity. "Oh my god!" He was face down on his bed, his linens soaked in blood. The stench of death loomed throughout the room as I manuevered around the room. His dresser was knocked over, his cloak stand broken in half. It looked like he was ambushed, but that would be quite impossible. Flipping his body over, his pajamas were soaked through with blood. To my utter dismay, it was still wet. Tears began to flow as I unbuttoned his shirt with a shaky hand. "Y-You cannot die!" His stitches were undone, another gash in his chest made, surrounded by dry blood. His chest was not rising and falling. I pressed my face to his blood streaked chest, trying to hear a heart beat. Nothing. My face was thick with his blood while I used my strength to prop him up on his pillows, trying to clear his bed of the soiled linens. "I-I'm going to h-help you, Angel..." Suddenly, there was movement in the kitchen. "I promise I-I'll come back, A-Angel." With a quick peck to his forehead, I ventured slowly to the kitchen.

"CHRISTINE! ARE YOU ALRIGHT, PETIT?" Madame Giry's eyes were wide as she ran over to me, her hands grasping my face. "Are you injured?!"

"N-No, this is not my blood. It is Erik's! You have to help him! H-He is not b-breathing!" Madame Giry and I ran to Erik's room, his pale body resting upon the pillows, lifeless. "His room was ransacked, but it had to be impossible! I was here all night... No one knows the way into the lair, except for you, Nadir and myself!" I was frantic to clean the room, Madame Giry's hand to stop me.

"Tend to Erik, I will clean the room. Does he have a pulse?" I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. Madame Giry made her way to Erik's side of the bed, resting two fingers on his wrist. "It is faint, dear. He is alive. I need you to fetch Doctor Vernier now or Erik will die! He is trustworthy, my dear. I promise." I looked at the lifeless Erik, shaking my head.

"I c-cannot leave, Erik!" Madame Giry grabbed my face, my chest moving at an irregular pace.

"You must. If you want him to leave, you leave through the left path of the catacombs. Go left and take four rights. Step over the middle step and it will lead you straight to the stables. Take César, he is Erik's horse. Doctor Vernier is on Amelié Avenue. Tell him it is of utmost importance. He will take Erik's horse and attach it to his carriage. You must ride like you have never ridden before." I shook my head, fervently as I watched Erik's motionless body lay on his bed. "Christine, do this for your Angel. He is in good hands. I will clean his wounds, change his clothes, and try to get him back to consciousness. Your job is get the doctor here." Finally nodding, I escaped with my green cloak that Erik gave to me and into the catacombs I went, praying that he stayed alive just long enough for my return.

Following Madame Giry's instructions, it led me to the stables, just as she said. His horse was fast as I made my way to Amelié Avenue. It was a higher end infirmary, the French doors and mosaic window a testament it to its funds. Opening the doors, I rushed to the front desk and to my dismay, no nurse was there.

"Somebody help me! Is anybody here?" This could not be happening. My tears began once more as my heart began to race. "My friend is dying, somebody help me! P-Please!" I shouted, hoping I would get an answer. Sinking to the floor, I grabbed my knees and brought them to my chest as I took deep breaths inward, my head feeling light. "Angel... I am so sorry... I t-tried so hard to s-save you..."

"Mademoiselle? What are you doing on the floor? Your face and dress is covered in blood!" An older man approached me, bringing me to my feet.

"Oh, thank God! You must come with me to The Opera Populaire! My teacher is dying and he needs a doctor's help!" His eyes were confused as I pleaded through my sobs.

"Mademoiselle, I do not know your name! I cannot leave the infirmary-"

"Antoinette Giry has sent for you, Monsieur! Please, you have to help me or my teacher will die."

* * *

As we arrived back into the lair, I escorted the doctor into Erik's room. Madame Giry stood, grabbing Doctor Vernier's hand. They seemed to have known each other in another life. As I stood over Erik, he was sweating profusely, his wounds bleeding.

"Michael, this is her teacher. I think he has an infection of some sort. His pulse his faint, but he has remained alive for the last hour. I have tried keeping his wounds from bleeding, but I fear he will need stitching. Did you bring your medical bag?" Doctor Vernier nodded, making his way over to Erik, examining his wounds.

"He has a bullet lodge in his chest, Antoinette. It barely missed his heart, he is suffering from blood loss. I ask for you two to leave me to do my work. If he shall live, it will truly be a miracle." Madame Giry began pushing my body out of the room, my tears making my vision incoherent. Shutting the door and locking it, I fell to the floor, my hands covering my face.

"H-He cannot d-die! He is my A-Angel!" Madame Giry bent down, gathering my tremulous body in her arms. "My Erik..." I felt as though I could not breathe.

"Let me get you cleaned up, my dear. I will draw you a ba-"

"NO! I REFUSE TO LEAVE THIS DOOR!" Madame Giry rose to her feet, grabbing something off of the kitchen table. "I am sorry... I did not mean to yell at you, Madame... A bath does sound nice..." Madame Giry bent down once more, cupping my cheek, her eyes unreadable.

"Petit, he gave this to me as you left. He wanted you to have it... Shall he pass." Madame Giry handed me a worn, leather book. The corners were burnt, the pages yellowed.

"W-What is i-it?" The thoughts of Erik passing, clouding my thoughts.

"It is his journal. He has been writing it since he ran away from home as a boy. He stopped writing the night you met The Vicomte. He told me he wants you to have it. It is the only thing of his past that exists. Do with it what you must. Though, I suggest you read it. He hopes you will finally understand finally, why he is so afraid to love."


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve **

* * *

**A/N: Hi friends, this has been fun to write! Sorry for the late update. I'm moving into my dorm in two weeks & I am also moving houses in the process of moving into college... My mom was in the hospital as well... I've been busy, needless to say. Anyway, as we move forward, Christine has just acquired Erik's journal. I would like to inform you that these next few chapters are entirely in the POV of Christine ****_reading _****the journal. There will be the occasional dialogue between Doctor Vernier, Madame Giry, Christine, and... a surprise character, but mostly... It is simply just Christine reading the journal for the next few chapters. It is indicated that Christine does not read the journal in order, just because that would be convenient... And oh honey, this story is anything but convenient. **

**Thank you for reading! **

* * *

_27 July _

_Everything is changing so quickly around me, everything but me. I am still this abysmal demon of hell. My face - the infection my mother calls it - haunts me as I cower in the shadows of the chilling corners of the attic, where I am confined by a chain. My mother fears that I will escape, exposing my flesh to her, well what is left of it. Luckily, she leaves for hours on end, drinking her sorrows away, leaving the house to myself. She does not yet know that I have figured out how to get myself out of this damned chain. It is a simple task, really. As she leaves for her daily errands, which consist of having sexual relations with some man she will not remember the name of, then skulking at a bar half to death, I make my move down to the sitting room, where the large grand piano awaits me. The white keys give me peace, the black keys sending an electrifying current through me that is keeping me alive. I feel the melody within me, the beating of the life that awaits me outside these walls. I have at least composed four symphonies, I keep them hidden in a music box I made from a tiny stuffed monkey my father left me as a child. My mother told me that my father left us for another woman, I would not blame him. He loved me very much as I remember, it was my mother that drove him away. I miss him dearly and I often wish that I could write to him. My mother tells me that he changed his name, but one day, I intend on finding him. I found some pieces of scrap wood in the backyard while my mother was out, which made for a reasonable box. I took apart her clock, which she was too drunk to notice, and created a music box. This young girl named Félicité, brought me gold paints, reds and blacks too. She is very kind. I have never met anyone who was so kind to me. She heard my mother scream at me one day and one evening, she was beckoning to me, just as Romeo did to his Juliet. She has never seen my face, though. She delivers the paint to the basement window before she goes to school, always with a note. I know she will leave me soon. She is much older than me, for she is going to be married soon. Well, I do not know that for sure, but a girl as beautiful as she, I assume any noble suitor will have her hand once she comes of age. _

_The music box does not make any sound, for I do not have all of the parts that are required, but I hope to one day make this music box sound. It is the only thing I have left of my father. I pray to the music box every night, hoping that my father will come for me and rescue me. I highly doubt it, though. I am almost twelve and I am still living in the attic, sometimes I am in a cage if I misbehave. The cage is not all that bad. I have grown accustomed to it, really. In fact, I figured out a way to-_

"Christine, what are you still doing awake?" Madame Giry's tired voice croaked in the doorway of the library. Turning to meet her exhausted eyes, I smiled as I put the journal face down beside me.

"I was just reading. Has he awakened at all, Madame?" The blonde woman shook her head, wrapping her shawl around her arms. She entered the library, poking at the fire. Sighing, she took her seat across from me. "I miss the sound of his voice... His music... It has been a week, Madame... Is not there anything we can do for him, anything at all?"

"Doctor Vernier is doing everything he can, my love. Erik is still alive and that is all we strive for nowadays. Erik is very weak, Christine. He can barely muster up the word, 'water.' If he sees this through, he will have a long recovery." I exhaled, picking up the leather bound book once more. Blinking slowly, I peered down at the charcoal writing.

"Madame Giry, did you know that Erik's father left his family with that wretched woman?" Madame Giry nodded, gesturing for me to continue. "He writes about his father, in adoration. Did he ever find him?"

"I do not think he ever did, I do not ever think ever tried, my love." With a soft exhale, Madame Giry laid back into the chair, closing her eyes. "Does he speak of his mother in his journal?"

"She seems like an awful woman! I will kill her if I ever find her! Trust me, I will do it..." Madame Giry smiled, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "W-Was he born disfigured? I mean, was it a birth deformity... Or did he... Did that happen to him?" Madame Giry shook her head, sitting up in an immediate response. Her expression turned dim, saddened by the thought.

"My love, there are some things in this world that are better left unanswered. Shall he become recovered and healthy again, that is a question reserved from him. I am not at liberty to discuss either his mother or his deformity."

"But-"

"Christine, I beg you. Do not ask me again. It is for the sake of the man who is knocking on death's door across the hall. Spare him the decency of not prying into his life. He gave you his journal as a keepsake. Now keep your eyes to the journal and for God's sake, do not ask me about the deformity that his mother caused him!" Madame Giry slapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Tears brimmed her eyes as she ran out of the room, grumbling French curse words. I took a deep breath and opened the journal, trying to compose my anger to a bare minimum.

"Oh, Erik..."

_In fact, I figured out a way to lift the bars and escape the cage, moving to the mattress that was kept in corner for me. No blankets, though, no I was not giving that amenity. Food was given to me once a day, a piece of stale bread and if I kept quiet for the day, a bowl of soup. My mother tells me that she cannot afford to put vegetables or chicken in the broth, but I beg to differ. She really is a witch, a devil woman. I loathe her deeply and I hope she rots in this house alone. My father was right to leave her here, I just wish he took me with him. My mother told me it was because of my disfigurement, that he did not take me. I know for a fact that, that is not true. There is something more that is hindering my mother from telling me the truth about my father. I do not even know his name. I assume it is Erik, for it was written on the foot of the monkey that he gave me. I wonder if that was the monkey's name or my father's name. In any case, that is how I picked my name. I begged my mother to call me Erik and after many beatings, she finally acquiesced. I do not know my surname, I figure it is Levelier, that is what my mother's mail says. I do not wish to take my mother's name. If it is my father's, I doubt she would have kept it. There are many things I do not know about myself, like my birthday. I just figure that I am twelve, because my mom told me so that I was. Well, she said something along the lines of, 'You're twelve or something, I don't goddamn remember everything, you rat.' It was close enough. _

I sighed loudly, putting the book down once more. Standing to my feet, I walked across the hall and tiptoed into Erik's bedroom. He laid there, his silk pajama pants laying low on his hips. I could not help, but giggle at the sight of his chest, exposed. Lifting myself up on his bed, I scoot close to his body. The few strands of hair he had left were awry as I ran my tiny fingers through them, the heat of his fever emanating from his skin. I knew I should not be in here, for I could contract an illness, but I just wished to be near Erik. His chest barely rose in a steady breathing rhythm as his chapped lips, pursed every-so-often at the touch of my fingertips. He was so lifeless, so numb to his surroundings.

_"No more talk of darkness... _

_Forget these wide eyed fears... _

_I'm here, nothing can harm you..._

_My words will warm and calm you..."_

"E-Erik, I miss you..." I choked through my tears as I finished the song, my head burrowing into his heated chest. "Please, p-please tell me you hear me..." My body began to tingle as I drifted into a sleep, an uncomfortable sleep.

**[DREAM]**

_It was chaos. There was fire everywhere. I could not escape. My feet were trapped beneath me as I tried to run off the stage, Erik's lifeless body hanging off of his box, dangling there like a piece of clothing on its clothes line. His mask had fallen into the flames, my heart racing to find an exit. I had to get to Erik first. We would escape together. My feet felt as though they were cemented to the ground. Why can I not move from my place? The ropes, of course! My leg is caught on a rope from the fallen rafter. Oh my, this was going to be much harder than I originally thought. I could feel the smoke enter my lungs. I needed to get to Erik. We will escape together. Why is the floor shaking? Is that... No, it cannot be... An earthquake! The great chandelier is falling... No... Please-_

_Darkness. _

* * *

"Christine! Christine, wake up right now!" An unfamiliar voice rang through my ears as I awoke in an unfamiliar place. No! I was no longer in the lair, where was I?! "You're blood pressure is spiking! Wake up, Christine!" I sat up, my eyes wide with fear. My dress was of the finest silk, my hair pinned up and my face still covered in makeup, as I vigorously touched all of my surroundings, trying to figure out where I was. I felt as though I was blind as my heart raced with an undeniable rush of panic. The smell around me was different, it was not like the lair, no it did not smell like cinnamon. It always smell like cinnamon in the lair! Where am I?... Why can I not see anything? Am I kidnapped? Blindfolded? Bound by wrist and ankle?

"W-Who are you? Where am I?!" I demanded, my voice deep in my chest as I grasped the sheets beneath me. Silk. Why was everything silk?! "Why am I unable to see you?!" Was I _really _blind?! "You are, but a voice in my head! Go away!" I screamed, my eyes shut as I grabbed my hair, frustrated. This could not be happening. Viciously, I began kicking my legs, hoping to awake from this bad dream. "If you have captured me, I assure you that Erik is out to kill you!" My body was violently pushed down, two hands grasping at my collar bone. "Stop it! You are hurting me!"

"Get her sedated again, 30mg of morphine. She is having a panic attack. Blood pressure 188/60." A male voice spoke, his hands restraining my arms. "We have to get that number down, Dan!"

"GET OFF OF ME! I WANT TO SEE ERIK! WHERE IS ERIK?" I kept kicking, but eventually another man held down my legs. "P-Please, I just wish to see Erik!" My torso thrashed, hitting the metal bars beside me that contained me. "GET ME OUT OF HERE! TAKE THIS BLINDFOLD OFF OF ME AND TAKE ME TO MY ERIK!" I screamed, screeching at the top of my lungs. Surely, Erik would not like to hear my vocal chords make that sort of noise! "He is so sick, please! LET GO OF ME, MONSIEUR!"

"Who is Erik, Miss Daaé?" The man asked, my eyes still shut, too scared to open them. My breathing was erratic, my head pounding. "You need to calm down, you are going to go into shock!"

"My head hurts! Stop yelling at me! My head... Just... Get E-Erik..." My speech became slurred as I felt the syringe go into my vein, my body becoming numb. "My head... My Erik..." My body shut down, but my it felt as though my heart stopped as soon as the man spoke the very words that were going to be the death of me.

"We can't tell her that she's been in a coma for weeks now and we definitely can't tell her that she's blind. She'll just go into another panic attack and her blood pressure is high enough. Call that Giry lady, have her come at once and tell her that Christine will be awake tomorrow." Before the figures blurred and my world went into oblivion, _his _name was mentioned and I knew, whatever they were mumbling was not good news at all, not good at all. "Oh and in that call, mention this Erik. See if Giry knows him and try to get him here. I bet Christine would like to hear his voice... Whoever _he _is."

* * *

**A/N: **

**CLIFF HANGER. WHAT IS GONNA HAPPEN NEXT? I DO NOT KNOW. **

**...**

**READ & REVIEW **

**PELASE**

*** A**


	13. Chapter 13

**PART TWO**

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

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* * *

A/N: Hello! I have taken a bit of a break to write a killer opening for part two! Also, I am in the process of moving to college and moving houses, that being I am _very _busy! Anyway, I want to tell you just how thankful I am for everyone who has taken the time to read this and review it! It means the world to me and I would love the continuous support as we move into the second half of the story.

The second half is **MODERN.** To RECAP: Erik has been very sick. He was mysteriously stabbed again and now he has an infection that is slowly eating away his body from the inside, out, poor him! Christine is reading his journal as he recovers. There was dream sequence where Christine dreamed that the Opera Populaire was in fire and flames. Christine moved to escape, but her foot was caught on a rope from a fallen rafter. (How convenient?) Anyway, as she struggles to move she feels the ground beneath begin to shake - an earthquake! She is then violently awoken by a team of nurses, but she can't see anything. She can hear everything, but she concludes that she was kidnapped from the lair and that she is blindfolded. Until the cliffhanger, the reader and Christine does not find out that she is now blind and that we do actually do _not _know where Erik is. BELIEVE ME, I will explai . I ask you with all of my heart that you continue to read with me as I take you on this journey with your brand new set of wings. The journal is still very important, keep that in mind. Okay? Good!

Reminder, this may or may not be a time travel story yet... You have to wait and read...

Thank you again for reading and reviewing, I love you all!

* * *

_"I bet Christine would like to hear his voice... Whoever he is."_

The room around me was pitch black, the ringing in my ears screeching at a decibel not meant for the human being. My body hurt tremendously, I could barely move it. It felt as though it weighed like an elephant or like an elephant was standing on it. I tried so hard to open my eyes, I was pretty sure my eyes were open, I could feel the air from the room hit my eyeballs. It stung. My jaw hurt, my chest hurt, hell even the bones in my toes hurt. Where was I? I remember people telling me to lay back down... This room is not the lair, no it does not smell like cinnamon. There were hands all over my body, trying to restrain me. Unfamiliar voices yelling numbers to each other, my name being screamed like it was yesterday's dinner. Taking a deep breath, I tried sitting up, only to have yet again another hand push me back down. Turning my head, all I was met with was more darkness. Were the lights shut off to relieve stress, headaches, or migraines? The quiet voice spoke to me, her voice becoming more and more clear. She was older, French. Within me, I felt like I knew her from another life. Turning my head the other way, I did not see anything. Nothing at all went past me, just darkness. The woman's hand met my chin, pulling my head gently towards her. Finally, I spoke back, my voice coarse with weeks of sleep underneath it.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaky, nervous.

"Oh, Christine... It is good to hear your voice once again!" The woman sobbed into me, clutching me like she had not seen me in years. In my case, I must have been asleep for a very long time. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Oh, Petit... You are so pale..." I looked down at my arms, nothing was there... Just darkness.

"What happened to me?" I questioned, not sure where to stare. She paused, exhaling softly out of her nostrils. Why were my senses heightened? Why did I care where she exhaled from all of a sudden?

"There was an accident, my Petit. There was... A fire, an earthquake... The chandelier fell and the glass from the crystals... They..." She began to sob.

"They what? What did the crystals do?" I asked tersely. I was impatient with this mysterious woman. I felt her shift in her seat. Her hands captured mine. Her hands were cold, wrinkled and the palms - probably from holding a cane of some sort. Her fingers were long, skinny. "Ma'am, what did the crystals do to me?" I questioned louder as she continually cried into our joined hands.

"Christine, the crystals were hot from the flames and they... When the chandelier fell, many crystals flew from it and since you were on the stage, you... They... Many crystals flew into your eyes and blinded you. The doctors were unable to recover your eyesight, there was so much damage from the crystal shards." She inhaled deeply, moving away from me. "You are blind, in both eyes."

* * *

The doctor came in numerous time, checking my vitals. Apparently, I had been in a coma for almost a month and half, due to smoke inhalation and my eyes trying to recover. Recover from what? I'm blind now. The doctors told me that my corneas were scratched and there were tiny shards of crystals lodged into my eyes. They couldn't do anything to remove them without further ruining my eyesight. You can't further ruin it past full blindness. I asked to be left alone. I did not want to be with that woman, whatever her name was. She had told me that she was my ballet instructor. Her name was Annie and she had a daughter named Meg. I didn't care much for her biography. I asked what in hell's name I was doing at an opera. My father died when I was younger and I was brought up by the house's owner. He disappeared after I turned fifteen and I was given to the care of Annie. She said he didn't know how to take care of a teenage girl or something. I asked her how old I was and she told me that I was _about _nineteen. Do I not have a birthday? She did not know what happened to my first care taker, he was a man of few words. Annie informed me that he taught me how to sing and the night of the accident, I was center stage as the leading soprano. I asked what his name was and she did not know. She awkwardly told me that _I _called _him, _"Angel." That was my nickname for him and apparently he responded to it. I asked if he had a home for me and she told the story about the man who lived underneath opera house. Yes, that was the Angel and I was his bitch. Great. I ordered for this Annie girl to leave. I couldn't stand her any longer. I couldn't stand myself any longer. Before she left, she exhaled again placing something of weight onto my lap. My fingertips trailed over the worn leather book? It was frayed on the corners, torn on the front. It could have been a bible for all I knew. Opening it, I felt the paper. It was thick, the ink... The pencil markings were smudged. It was a diary?

"What is this?" I asked her with an annoyed tone.

"It is a journal, _his _journal." I huffed with frustration, handing it back to her. "Will not you take it?"

"I CAN'T READ IT!" I began to sob into my hands, my heart racing. "WHY WOULD YOU GIVE THAT TO ME?" I yelled at her, my anger boiling in my veins. She had coddled me into her arms, stroking my hair. "I can't read it..."

"It is his journal, he told me to give it to you. He gave it to me on the night he left you. He said that if you wish to find him, everything you will need is in here." I scoffed, wiping my tears with the flimsy hospital blanket. "Do you wish to find him?"

"No, I wish to _see_." I seethed through my teeth. "He doesn't know I'm blind does he?"

"I do not know, he was there that night, Petit." I gasped suddenly, the haunting dream coming flooding back to me. There was a man, to my left lurched over the box. He looked dead. The flames quickly consumed him. "He sat in his box and watched you perform, Petit."

"If he was there, why didn't he rescue me? I'm his daughter-"

"No, you were _never_ his daughter. You were _just_ his student. He _never _perceived you as a daughter as you should _never _perceive him as a father figure." She was terse, gravelly. I coughed awkwardly, reaching for the journal. Soon, the leather bound book was soon in my grasp again.

"Will you read it to me?" I asked curiously. She sighed.

"No, I cannot." I wanted to punch this woman in the face. "I know someone who will though."

"And who might that be?" I gritted, trying to keep my anger down to a minimum. Truly, this woman was trying my patience.

"He himself, of course!" She was excited and I was enraged.

"YOU ARE MAKING NO SENSE! GET OUT OF MY ROOM! GET OUT NOW! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" I threw the journal back towards her direction, hoping that I hit her in square in the face. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM! YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? CAN'T YOU SEE I AM ALREADY SUFFERING ENOUGH AS IT IS?" I was sobbing uncontrollably, hyperventilating.

"Silence." A man's voice pierced the room. His voice was velvety, stern at the last syllable. "You will apologize to Annie right now." I shook my head, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from, which direction he stood. "Do it now." He enunciated.

"Who the hell are you?" Finally, I turned to my left, feeling the man's presence beside me.

"I am someone who knows you better than anybody else. Now, if you will apologize to Annie, it would be greatly appreciated." I shook my head once again, folding my arms over my chest.

"Listen buddy, I just found out that I'm blind... Can't you bother someone else?" He let out a low chuckle, shifting in his spot.

"I do not care if you are blind, deaf, or have no arms or legs. Apologize now or I will make you all three of those." His breath seeped down my throat, hot and slow as it traveled into my ears. "Now."

"I-I'm sorry." I stuttered out, turning towards the woman. She squeezed my hand in response. "What i-is your n-name?" I stammered out, hoping he was still standing there.

"That is of little importance. For now, you can call me Rike." I could sense him take a seat next to me, the heat of his body emanating towards me. "You are Christine. Do you remember much before the accident?"

"No, I don't. I keep having the same nightmare over and over again, though." He demanded that I explain the nightmare. After giving in and explaining the nightmare, he hummed to himself. I was growing impatient. "What relation do I even have to you, Rike?" What kind of name is that...?

"I am a friend of Annie's. That is all. Tell me about your teacher. Was he nice?" I shrugged my shoulders, playing with the blanket.

"I don't remember what he was like. I want to say he was nice, but I don't remember him much. He... He..." I paused, hoping that it was all in my mind. Annie rubbed my back, making me uncomfortable. I didn't say anything about it.

"Please finish your sentence, Christine." Rike instructed, pressing forward. I sighed, feeling the pages of the journal beneath me. "What did he do or say?"

"It isn't what he did or said... In my dream, nightmare... He had this specific thing... This..." I began, trying to find the right words. I took a long drawn-in breath, closing my eyes. There was no difference. Exhaling slowly, I imagined the body that was thrown over the railing, the black coat tails slowly being engulfed in flames. He looked as though he was reaching for something, reaching for me... The white porcelain was covered in ash and debris, you could barely call it white anymore. My last glimpse before it went hazy and dark was of the mask... It fell into to the flames, consumed by the distortion and arson that he believed he had within him... When really, he was only looking to be loved, to be held... And I had pushed him away in my own selfishness. He was so terrified of being loved, of being used and hurt... I had done the same to him just as Carissa did... He deserved better, he deserved wings, wings that could carry him to the sky and beyond, never to look back on the world that so badly scarred him... On the girl who was willing to give her all to him, yet stripped him of that amenity in her own selfish act, because she too wanted to fly.

"Christine?" Rike's voice broke out once more as I wiped a tear from my eye. I sniffled, taking a deep breath. "What did he have?" He was eager, curious. This was as passionate as I had ever heard him since he arrived. I shook my head and sighed to myself.

_Oh Erik, where are you?_

"He had a mask. A white one... But it fell into to the flames..." I trailed off, trying to shake the horror of my shoulders. Soon, Annie's hands were under mine and a smooth surface brushed underneath my finger tips. "What is this?"

"It is the mask."


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

* * *

"How did you meet that Rike guy?" I asked as the moving car beneath me rocked me gently into a smooth, relaxing rhythm. I had been released from the hospital this morning and Annie told me that she would take me in, insisting that she already had a room for me. Her daughter was _very _excited to hear that I was coming home. I was _more than _less excited to learn that I would be rooming with Lady Inconsiderate and Junior.

"We were friends in our youth." She spoke softly, the quiet music of the classical satellite radio echoing behind her elderly voice. She hummed along to each note perfectly as she continued to drive me to her home, I guess. "Meg is very thrilled to hear that you are coming home." Simply nodding, I reached to the side for the water bottle. Soon, the wrinkled hands met with mine, the plastic bottle between us. "You know, you do not have to be afraid to ask me to get you anything, Christine." My patience tested me.

"_Afraid_? You think that I'm afraid to ask you to hand me my water bottle? With all due respect ma'am, I rather be independent than have some lady do everything for me. I think I can reach out for a water bottle by myself, thank you very much." She remained silent. The only thing that sounded was the music. "Does Rike live near us?"

"He lives in the same building as we do, on the top floor." I bent down, fumbling to get the bag of stuff I gathered from the hospital. Opening the bag, I managed to pull out the smooth mask. "Why did you pull that out, Christine?"

"Why did you give it to me?" I spat back, feeling every crevice and every texture beneath my fingertips that the mask held. "Did my teacher wear it? Is it yours? Is it Rike's or Meg's? Is it mine?" I sighed heavily, shaking my head. "I just hate not knowing anything about myself, I'm sorry... It's frustrating, you know... It's so hard when you wake up suddenly and have all these memories... All these dreams... It's so hard when you can't differentiate between your nightmares and your reality, then you get told you're blind... I don't know who I am anymore. I have all these nightmares and memories that _want _to tell me who I am, but I just can't believe them. They feel so real, but I just don't think they are... None of them." I scrunched up my face in aggravation, grasping onto the mask in anger. "I just want to know who was so cruel that they wanted to cut some nineteen year old girl's wings and completely pummel her into the dirt..." The older woman sighed, her car suddenly turning off in pure silence. I felt two hands grab the mask from me, replacing my hands with theirs. With an exhale, the woman began with a heavy heart.

"Christine, I cannot imagine what you are going through, I could never in a thousand years imagine what you are going through... But you have to stay strong. You have to find your own wings, you have to grow new ones. Your blindness is your new strength and I am here to help you show you that. Meg will be there to help you, I am here to help you. It is going to be rough the first months, this new disability overwhelming your whole lifestyle... But both of us will always be by your side to pick you up when you are down, when you are frustrated, and when you feel like giving up, my Christine. Nothing is too great that you cannot conquer. I believe in you, Meg believes in you... Rike believes in you." My brow furrowed in confusion as she mentioned the mystery man's name. He _hated _me. How could he want to help me or believe in me? "We are all here for you, Christine. You must let us help you though, for this to work."

"Rike... He hates me." I whispered, sitting back against the window. "He's mean and he hates me, Annie." The woman let out a laugh, grabbing my bag and water bottle from my hands. With a soft hand against my cheek, I knew that I was in too deep to escape now.

"Oh, Christine... He could _never _hate you."

* * *

Annie made her way up to the twelfth floor, knocking on the black door patiently. She always delivered an extra serving of dinner to the resident on the twelfth floor. She felt obligated. With another knock, she tilted her head to the side and sighed. This was taking longer than usual. With a huff, Annie balanced the tray of lasagna in one arm, pressing the intercom speaker with the other, just hoping she would not drop the salad in her balancing act.

"Yes, thank you. I heard you the first three times, Annie." The deep voice beckoned through the speaker.

"It would be nice if you opened the door then, Monsieur. I am carrying a very heavy tray of lasagna." With an airy chuckle, the door unlocked and Annie made her way through the loft. The loft was decorated with predominately black leather furniture. He kept it pristine, never letting a speck of dust out of his sight. Placing the tray of lasagna and bowl of tossed salad on the kitchen counter, Annie sighed greatly, leaning against the marble top.

"How is she doing?" He asked inquisitively, his velvety voice filling the large kitchen.

"She is surviving. I do not blame her for all the frustration and anger she has, though. What happened to her, should happen to no one." The man nodded in apathy, his expression stoic and disinterested. "She asked about you today... I use the term, 'You,' loosely." The man shrugged his shoulders, reaching for a crystal wine glass. Gesturing for two glasses, Annie politely objected. "She thinks you hate her."

"It is a fair assumption, Annie." The brawny man poured himself a rather expensive glass of Merlot, taking a white ceramic plate from the cabinet. "I am not likable by many. I did not expect her to think of me in adoration or to make a shrine of me, Annie." Serving himself some dinner, he sat down at the cherry wood table, Annie took a seat across from him with a harsh expression. "What? You gave her the journal and that is all that she needs."

"No, you forgot the part where you read it to her, Monsieur." The man scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

"I am not reading some fictitious bedtime stories to a nineteen year old girl, Annie. I do not stoop that low. I have work to do and she has things to learn. She has a new lifestyle to become accustomed to, Annie. I neither the time to read her some journal I found on an archaeological dig, nor the inclination." Annie stood up in detestation, her light blue eyes filled with rage.

"Do you hate her or not?" She hissed. The man dropped his fork, raising his hands in indifference.

"I do not know well enough to hate her, but I do not want to know her well enough to hate her. She is a child, Annie. I do not have the time to read her journal entries from some man she may have or may have not known from before her tragic accident." The man paused, licking his lips in curiosity. Standing to meet the furious gaze, he tilted his head in realization. "Wait, why are you _so _adamant on _me _reading to her? Why will you not just read it to her?" Annie froze, her jaw clenching in fright. With a hard swallow, she stepped backwards.

"I... I wanted a man to read it to her. It is a man's journal and I thought it would be more genuine if a man read it to her. Besides, I knew her teacher well and it would be awkward if I read it to her. Please, do this for me - for Christine." The man pondered, shaking his head in regret.

"Fine, but you have to promise me something." He stuck his finger in the woman's face, earning a large smile from the older woman. He rolled his eyes once more.

"Anything, oh anything!" She clamped her hands over his, her eyes filling with glee. "Anything for you, my friend."

"You cannot tell her _where _I found the journal, my _true _name, and who I am. Do you understand these circumstances as I have just read them to you?" He tore his hands from hers, sitting back down in his seat at the dinner table. With a soft kiss to his cheek, she began to dismiss herself with happiness. "Annie..." He muttered, holding his fork up to his mouth.

"Yes?" She paused in her stride, turning to meet the kind eyes of the man who lived on the twelfth floor. He smiled softly, the shadows of the night creating a familiar darkness around him.

"Thank you for dinner." Annie smiled, making a curtsy to the smallest degree. He laughed slightly, finally understanding why he agreed to reading the dumb journal entries to a grown woman.

"You are most certainly welcome."

* * *

I had a large dinner. I enjoyed the home cooked meal, as opposed to the gross hospital food I was being fed. I actually sort of enjoyed Meg's company. Meg was ditsy. I could sense that she was very hyper, most likely ADHD. Meg had a short attention span or maybe she was just _very _excited that I was finally home. She talked about her Zumba classes that she takes three times a week. I learned that she doesn't have a boyfriend, but she loves having friends that are boys. I reserve judgment. Meg goes to a small college and she enjoys to sing in her free time. I felt like I was reading her dating profile. While getting to know her was wonderful, having her bathe me was the worst part of the evening. She kept telling me that I had a nice ass. She swore she was straight. She led me to guest room and she insisted that she sleep in there the first couple of the nights on the futon. I didn't have any objections, only that she didn't bring any of her friends that are boys over while I was in there with her. She happily complied.

"Do you remember what it was like being able to see?" Meg's chipper voice broke the silence as I sat on my bed, waiting for her to brush my hair.

"Whenever I dream... I can see memories, nightmares... I suppose that's what it was like to see." I shrugged my shoulders, playing with the blanket beneath me.

"Do you remember what I look like, Chrissie?" I cringed at the nickname. Shaking my head, I felt the bed shift. "Okay... I'm sitting in front of you. Give me your hands!" She piped up, probably smiling.

"Why..." I asked slowly, lifting my hands up in hesitation.

"I hear that this how blind people see!" She grabbed my hands in excitement, placing my hands on her face. "Don't worry Chrissie, I washed my face." My hands didn't move. I could feel her frown beneath my thumbs. "Are you scared?" She asked, pulling away my hands from her face.

"No... I just... I don't know what to do." I shrugged my shoulders, embarrassed by the confession. Before I could say anything else, my hands were being gently moved all around her face. "You have a scar above your eyebrow." I commented as my fingertip graze her forehead.

"I got that when I was sixteen! You gave that to me!" She continued to move my hands, the new sensation foreign to me. "We were throwing snowballs at each other and I guess the ice didn't melt all the way and the snowball you threw, was _very _chunky!" She giggled loudly as I touched her nose ring.

"You pierced your nose? I've always wanted to pierce my belly button!" Meg giggled again. "Maybe some day we can go together." She nodded excitedly, moving my hands to her lips and her chin. "Why do you have a bump on your chin?"

"It's a birthmark!" She exclaimed, giddy than ever. "You have a birthmark on your stomach." I raised my eyebrow, lifting my shirt slightly. "Want me to lead you to it?"

"Please." I smiled softly as she grabbed my hands. Her hands guided me to the right side of my lower stomach, near my hip. The skin was more rough, but it felt like a birthmark, definitely. "What does it look like?" Meg paused, probably examining the mark. With a clap of her hands, she shifted the bed again in elation.

"It looks like..." She paused, killing me in anticipation. "It looks like a pair of angel wings!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen **

**It feels so good to be back with this fic ! I missed you guys. Anyway, I worked really hard on this chapter, since it's been a long time and I really hope you enjoy it. I love you all to the moon and back, truly! :) **

* * *

I woke around ten in the morning to an empty apartment. As I made my journey to the kitchen, my heightened senses tingled as I approached the archway. Another person was in the apartment with me. I cautiously used my white cane to guide me through the kitchen silently, hoping and praying it wasn't a burglar.

"You are finally awake. You have practically slept away the whole day, Christine." The deep bellow echoed from behind me, their voice trickling down my neck. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come out of your room at all." The presence left me, moving elsewhere. I sighed and leaned against the counter.

"Why are you here? If you aren't going to read the journal to me, you shouldn't even be here." I seethed through my closed jaw. Breathing the same air as him made me angry.

"I already agreed to reading it to you." I couldn't help, but let out a laugh of disbelief.

"It's been over a month since I received the journal and you still haven't read a word of that journal to me. What makes me want to believe you now?" I guided myself over to the bar stools. Taking my seat, I rested my elbows on the cold counter. "Let's see here, since I've returned from the hospital after my coma, I've... Learned that I'm blind, orphaned, I don't even know how old I am, and I have this damn journal with which I cannot even read." The man sighed. I could just imagine the rage steaming off of his body. "I have met a man named Rike and he agreed to read me the journal. Well, would you look at that? It's been a _month _and he still hasn't breathed a word of that journal to me!" I was frustrated. In this month, I have grown accustom to my new disability, I've learn to accept the things given to me and the things taken from me. The one thing I cannot accept is Rike.

"Do _not _take that tone with me." His voice ricocheted off of the walls, permeating my bones with a fierce resonance. I could hear his footsteps nearing towards me. As his body inched closer, I could practically feel his breath against the flesh of my neck, his nostrils flaring in rage and detestation. Suddenly, there was a loud slamming noise on the cold marble counter in front of me. "_March Fourth_," Rike gritted, his mouth beside my ear.

"_My mother's insatiable need to torture me has grown exponentially since I tried escaping a week ago, since she learned of my skills in magic. She chains me to a metal cage by the ankles, wrists, and neck. I go without food and water for weeks on end. Oh, how I miss the sweet taste of sunlight as I sit in the despairs of darkness. Yet, she does not know that no metal bondage can hold me. What a wretched woman, she is, thinking that she can contain me. I am fond of trapdoors, I think I quite fancy them. One day, I shall build millions of trapdoors all over Paris, so the world may never find me_."

Rike paused, shutting the journal beneath me. He exhaled as he brought the journal back to his side. I don't know what he did with it from there. I sat in silence as I copiously went over the spoken words in my mind, the eloquent dictation that Rike so beautifully relayed to me. How this journal connects me to a person who was held captive by his mother, I don't know. It intrigued me greatly, though. I craved more to be read to me. I knew that Rike wouldn't read any further. He was silent. The words spoke to him as well, in a different way. I could hear it in the sound of his voice as he read the journal aloud to me. Something wasn't right in his tone, something wasn't right as he shut the leather book, closing away secrets I may never know or understand.

"That is the first entry, Christine." Rike finally spoke, his voice filling the vacant air looming between us. "There are many like that one in this journal. He was no ordinary man."

"How did he survive? Did he escape his mother?" I asked, truly curious about the author of the book.

"He escaped, but surviving is a tale in its own, Christine." Rike took a deep breath. "This journal is a special one, Christine. I... I found it." I paused to turn towards Rike, who had now taken a seat beside me. _  
_

"You _found _it? Annie told me that-"

"Forget what Annie told you! You must believe me and only me, Christine." Rike's tone had grown harsh, cold. "If you want to find out about your past, you have to trust me and the information I give you. Annie doesn't know anything. She just wants to protect you, shield you from what really happened to you, to _him._"

"I don't understand... How did you find the journal?" I was befuddled to the nth degree.

"Christine, I am a Parisian."

"Yes, because you being from Paris solves _all_ my problems!" I clapped my hands together in the most sarcastic of manners, only to earn a low growl from the man beside me. "Sorry, please continue, Parisian." He took a deep breath and soon my hands were in his. The man's hands were warm, trembling. They felt so familiar to me, like the first time you sleep in your own bed after a week of being in a hotel. My heart began to beat faster as he cleared his throat. As my stomach churned, I listened to his silky voice as my skin rose and my heart fluttered. This is man, was no ordinary man.

"My last name... My real name, rather... I am Raoul, Raoul de Chagny."

* * *

_'Angel?' A tiny voice beckoned from the other side of the door. She was so small, so innocent. 'Mon Ange, are you in there?' The figure in the shadows arose from the rickety desk chair and made their way to the door, kneeling down in front of it. The shadow placed his large palm against the cherry wood, trying so hard to connect with the little girl without hurting her. Oh, how the man wished to touch her soft cheek to assure her that he was no enemy of hers. _

_'I am here, yes.' The resonant voice echoed back to the girl. She smiled widely, her eyes tired from her interrupted sleep. She clung onto his heavy cape with all the strength she had. She loved sleeping with it, like a baby's blanket it was to her. 'Do you need something, girl?' _

_'I cannot sleep, mon Ange.' She yawned loudly, plopping down in front of the large door. Her legs were crisscrossed as she wrapped the over-sized cape around her minuscule figure. 'I had a nightmare.' _

_'You had a nightmare?' The young girl just hummed, clinging onto the cloth tightly, as if it could shield her from the ever present darkness that surrounded her. 'What happened in the nightmare?' _

_'There were men and my Papa... They had guns and they were hitting my Papa!' The girl's voice escalated as she began to sob, recollecting the horrible images. 'My Papa, he was screaming for me and I kept reaching for him. I woke up before I could hear the gun shot, mon Ange. I could not bear to hear it!' The shadow leaned his forehead against the cool cherry wood, clawing the door as he ached to be on her side, comforting the tiny angel in his arms. No one should be put through those horrors. 'Ange?' _

_'Yes, I am here...' He whispered just barely audible. She scooted up to the door, kneeling against the tall wood separating apparatus. It was cold against her pale skin. The cape fell at a train behind her as she pressed her ear against the wooden door, trying to listen to his voice. 'Will you sing for me? I know you will not let me sing for you, but I am scared, I am frightened. Will you sing for me?' The man flinched backwards when he realized just how close she was. She must have moved forward from her sitting position. He paused as he shut his eyes. He could just imagine himself as a boy, sitting on the other side of the door, begging his mother for a kind word. He would not neglect this small girl as he was neglected as a child. _

_'Yes, I will sing to you, Christine. You must do me a favor first.' Christine smiled with anticipation. _

_'Anything for you, mon Ange.' _

_'I am going to crack the door open, in order for you to hear me better. You must sit back down on the floor. i do not want to hit you with the door, Christine.' The young girl nodded as she gathered the cape in her arms, making a nice bed for her on the floor. Eyeing the pile of cloth, she suddenly got an idea._

_'Wait, do not start yet! I will be right back, mon Ange!' Christine quickly ran to the corner of the crowded apartment where her cot lay. She grabbed her pillow and blanket off the cot and ran back to the place where the cape was. Arranging a nicer looking bed on the ground, she wrapped herself in the cape, using the blanket to lay on, and cuddled herself into the overwhelming bed that she disappeared in altogether. _

_'Are you ready, Christine?' The man's voice questioned from behind the door. He had no idea that Christine made a nest for herself. _

_'Yes, Ange. I am ready.' The shadow took a deep breath and with one swift movement, he pushed the door open just so. It was barely enough to see through, but he could see that she was laying on the ground. He raised his eyebrow at the sight, pushing the door open even more. He gasped once he saw that Christine was practically asleep before him. 'I am so tired...' She mumbled, her eyes closed as she awaited his voice to fill her. _

_'Sleep, Christine. I will... I will sing to you, now and soon, the nightmares will be long behind you.' The shadow emerged from the deep caverns of his office, not enjoying the air that hit the uncovered side of his face. Sitting beside the lethargic girl, the man took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wished nothing more than for her nightmares to be gone. No one that small, that beautiful and innocent deserved to have such wicked and abhorrent images implanted in their heads. _

_'Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,  
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.  
__Silently the senses,  
Abandon their defenses...'_

* * *

I sat silently in the living room with the leather bound journal beneath my fingertips. Annie and Meg were still out doing whatever they set out to do and I was still stuck with Rike, I mean Raoul. He is a twenty-seven year old archivist who got sent to the cellars of the Garnier Opera House in Paris, only to come back with one leather bound journal. I asked him what was so special about _that _Opera House and Raoul spoke of the fire and the tale of the Opera Ghost. Suddenly, all my dreams started coming full circle, my memories. _  
_

"Who was he?" I could I feel the air shift between us.

"Who?" I held up the journal, hoping the Parisian would understand my question.

"_He _was a great composer, magician, and from what I've learned about him, he was a prestigious teacher." Raoul paused. I could feel the Parisian come closer to me. Grabbing the journal from me, I could hear the flipping of pages. "The journal though, has many entries talking about an attic and a girl who would deliver paint to the boy on her school route. The boy had a father who left him at a young age and a mother who was an alcoholic. The question is then, 'How does that boy connect to you?' Is it not?" I huffed in response, not understanding the Parisian and his enigmatic questions. "It was this father who was the great composer, Christine. If you skip forward to the middle of the journal, you will find that he eventually _did _find his father, who just so happened to have worked at the Opera House. His father was a manager there, but he was very sick with tuberculosis. Eventually, his father passed away and expected his son to take over the Opera House, but his son was so distraught and mentally abused by his mother that he retreated to the cellars of the Opera House. He would compose operas and give them to the managers, demanding a salary each month. He pretended to be his father for many years and they believed him, only because they feared him. He mastered ventriloquy and he became quite good at creating trap doors, to maneuver in and out of the house without ever being seen-"

"...So the world would never find him..." I breathed out, my mind trying to wrap itself around Raoul's words shaky words.

"He went by the Opera Ghost."

"Where do I fit into this?" I broke the looming silence as I drew in a long breath.

"One night, he heard a girl screaming for her father. He was out on an early morning walk and it was raining particularly hard. He heard a girl crying out multiple times and he finally followed the voice. He found her hiding in a cardboard box, soaked to the skin and frightened. He took her in reluctantly and had planned on taking her to the orphanage the next day, but..." The Parisian took a long pause, trying to decide within himself if he should continue.

"But?" I pressed on, impatient with the way this conversation was going. "I don't have time for this, Parisian. Is this guy my caretaker or not?"

"His friend from his past convinced him to keep the girl and raise her as his protégé. She had a voice crafted by the gods and molded by a musical mastermind. He was hesitant to teach her for the first years they were together, though. He was scared that he would hurt her in some way. He hid away in his office for most of the day, allowing her to roam around their apartment freely, without having to worry about seeing him." I furrowed my eyebrows towards the man in pure confusion. "He grew fond of her and her talents. He eventually moved them to his home underneath the Opera House and from then on, they became inseparable." He paused again. I could hear him fiddling with the journal, flipping through the pages. "_August Twenty-First_," He breathed, sending chills down my spine.

_"I have fallen in love with her, inexplicably and undeniably in love with her. Her voice is my weakness, her touch is my gluttony, and her eyes are my treasure. Have I gone mad? I promised myself that I would not allow myself to walk down this road of thorns again, no not after her. Yet, there is this insurmountable lump in my throat that longs to express my need for her presence around me at all times. I cannot go another second without her. As I await for her to return from rehearsals, my heart aches with loneliness. My stomach churns with a pain that i have not felt since my own father left me. She says she loves me, but I know that she only means it in a platonic way. Yet, her words are still like sweet honey to me. She does not know what hides beneath my mask. She only sees a handsome teacher who can sing and play the piano. She does not know that I am a monster, a monster that could hurt her. I hid from her for so long in fear that I would harm her and now that we are able to stand face to face, the fear of harming her is even greater. At least when I was behind that cherry wood door, I knew that she was safe - that she was safe from the monster who hid behind it."_

Raoul swallowed the lump in his own throat as he shut the journal closed, rising to his feet. Moments later, I could feel the journal in my lap once again. Raoul was in close proximity to me. I could hear his shallow breathing. It was erratic, he was nervous. Running my fingertips over the cover of the journal, I pushed it towards the edge of my knees with anticipation, licking my dry lips.

"Read me another entry, Raoul." Two strong hands pushed the journal back onto my lap.

"No, Christine. You have had enough today. I will read you more tomorrow." Raoul stood to his feet. I could hear him begin to exit the room. Soon, my white cane was handed to me. "There is only so much of that man's story I can take in one day."

"Why?" Standing to my own two feet, I used my white cane to guide me to the kitchen, hopefully following the Parisian. "What's so bad about the story that makes you cringe or have that tone in your voice?" He remained silent. "Was this man a bad person? Did he murder a bunch of people or abuse this girl?"

"No and no, Christine." He was growing annoyed with my questioning. "Must you always assume the worst in people?"

"Yeah, I must." I stated blandly as I took my seat again on the bar stool. "You aren't telling me otherwise, which leads me to believe the worst in people." Raoul scoffed as I could hear the ice machine going. "In any case, why can't you read me another entry?"

"I have read the whole journal, Christine. I just do not feel like re-reading it to you. It is very uncomfortable for me." Raoul began to obnoxiously chew his ice. _Great._ "Does any of it sound familiar to you yet? Annie told me that certain entries should spark something in you. I have picked the entries out and have begun reading them to you..." Raoul began rambling about the journal entries and how he went through and picked out each one by hand. Frankly, I stopped listening about half way through his speech. Absentmindedly, I began flipping through the pages, running my fingers over the ink, trying to feel each page, each emotion that was put into the words that this man wrote. Somehow, I felt connected to the pages, like the red string of fate was tied around of my finger and it was pulling me in one very specific direction...

"Raoul, is this man dead? The man who wrote this journal, is he dead?" I blurted out, interrupting his very moving speech.

"No one knows, Christine. He disappeared one night and never came back to the Opera House. There is an abrupt stop in his journal." I pondered for a moment, trying to put the pieces together in my mind.

_"_Annie told me that there was a man in a mask at my final performance, though... Did she lie to me?" Raoul let out a soft laugh.

"That was a man with a mask on, not _the _man with _the _mask. The body was later identified by a local Parisian citizen. He was just a random person. The man in which you are referring to disappeared about two years before you took the stage at your final performance." Finally, it all made sense to me.

"Wait... Raoul... Raoul de Chagny... You sent me flowers the night of the performance. You sent me a bouquet of Lilies. _He _spoke of you many times, in resentment most of the time. He was jealous of you and angry that you kept coming to my performances, my practices as well." I could hear Raoul stumbling backwards, tripping of some sort. "Raoul de Chagny... de Chagny..." Suddenly, an epiphany hit me like a ton of bricks. "You were the key sponsor of The Garnier Opera House... You're not at archivist. You're a millionaire philanthropist. I heard your name on the news the other day, you... You donate twenty five thousand dollars to Operation Smile."

"I-I I am an archivist, it's more of a hobby." I shook my head in disbelief.

"Why did you come to me in the hospital and tell me a fake name?" He swallowed hard again.

"Christine, it is much more difficult for me to explain _that _to you, than for me to explain to you, um, who your caretaker is, perhaps." I folded my arms over my chest in detestation.

"You're not making any friends here." I growled. "Just tell me why you lied to me and then you can leave me alone for good. I don't want to be around you anymore. I don't want to be around any of you, really." I mumbled the last bit, hoping that he didn't hear me.

"What? Are you going to run away from here? You do not have much a footing, Christine." I wanted to throw the journal at his head.

"Well, you don't really have much say in the matter." Hopping off of the barstool, I grabbed the journal in my left hand and the white cane in my right hand. Turning on my heel, my back faced the lying man. Some philanthropist he is.

"Where are you going?" His tone was worried, harsh mostly. Raising my hand in the air, I made sure my middle finger was standing high enough for him to get the picture. "Christine Daaé!" He scolded. I began to laugh as I walked towards my room. I needed to get out of there. "Where are you going to go, Christine? You have nowhere to go, nowhere!" With one last huff of frustration, I turned around as my chest heaved up and down in anger. I hope he could feel my rage emanating off of my body from where he was standing.

"I'm going to The Garnier Opera House, to the cellars particularly. I'm going to pay a visit to a dear old friend."

* * *

**A/N: **

**Awe! I missed this fic so much. I can't wait to keep updating this as the year goes on, guys ! I'm so sorry that I had to keep this on hold for so long. I was trying to move to college, while also move to FLORIDA! CRAZY, right? I currently live in Alabama, as I am going to college there. (Roll Tide!) My family is busily packing up my room in California and planning to move all our shit to Florida at the end of August. It's kind of chaotic, I must say. I forgot a bunch of things in California, so I'm having my mom ship a bunch of shit to my school. WHOOOOOOOPS. Good thing pacakages are free... Anyway, school starts on Wednesday and I'm so excited! I'm taking four English classes, because I'm on the creative writing track here. It's going to be a fun year. **

**I love you all and I hope you enjoyed this LONG and VERY OVERDUE update. **

**I will be updating ATL soon as well. Be patient with me as I am still trying to get settled in my new way of life. **

**Much love. **

**I hope you review, because i love reading them... (: **


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